


Who Made You King of Anything?!

by Araminthe_Ispwitch



Series: In another life, we could be [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, BTW, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Mistakes, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Stepfamily AU, Yuri and JJ encounter each other without knowing each other's identity, and hilarity and angst solution ensues, i do ninja edits, i started writing this to say fuck you to the haters tbh, okay so basically, pliroyweek2017, rockstar!JJ AU, this may or may not be a multi-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 12:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10190219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araminthe_Ispwitch/pseuds/Araminthe_Ispwitch
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky, youngest son of the legendary skater husbands Viktor and Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, was only trying to relax and meditate the night before his senior debut at the Rostelecom Cup. He had never wanted to getwayinto a fucking debate about an annoying rockstar with an equally-annoying stranger. In fact, he had never even wanted to discover that said equally-annoying stranger was actually the aforementioned annoying rockstar!Based on @skygemspeaks'Stepfamily AU(my own version), rockstar!JJ AU (I actually don't know if this exists), and the writing prompt,“ur just a random stranger and i’ve been ranting to you for like 20 minutes about how much i hate this one band but now several groups of people came up to you asking for pics and autographs, and oh shit it turns out you’re in the band i’ve been going on about”AU.Pliroy Week 2017|Day 2:Self-Esteem/Confidence &Day 8:Free AU





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so first of all, this actually started when I got into the Pliroy fandom. At that time, the bashing was at its peak and it made me determined to compile a collection of one-shots and multi-fics dedicated to AUs because apparently, some people have forgotten that this is just _fiction_ and just because we enjoy it doesn't mean we tolerate it _in real life_.
> 
> Honestly, folks.
> 
>  
> 
> **Important Stuff to Note:**
> 
> 1) As I've said, I've tweaked the Stepfamily AU for this. I won't list every change here and let you discover them yourselves, but I _will_ immediately point out that the ages have changed.
> 
> 2) To those who dislike calling Yuri Plisetsky "Yurio", sorry to disappoint but he's a Yurio here. But do not fret: there's a _good_ reason he's sometimes called Yurio here, AND he actually likes being called Yurio here! I'll let you guys figure out why. :)
> 
> 3) This actually follows the YOI canon storyline. The only difference is that half of YOI's cast had been placed in a different timeline, hence the change of ages. :D
> 
> 4) Because this is the Stepfamily AU, expect Yuri's persona to be a bit—vastly?—different from canon Yuri's.
> 
> 5) The title is misleading. This is not a songfic lol.
> 
>  
> 
> **I dedicate this fic to two people:**
> 
> 1) That one anti-Yurio-ships blogger who couldn't accept that I find her a joke. Remember, kids: the moment you make/think of making a hate blog is the moment you've lost respect for yourself. Hope the smut fics are treating you well, darling. ;)
> 
> 2) @[just-themys](http://just-themys.tumblr.com/), a wonderful member of the Pliroy Tumblr fandom. They helped me with the French here and is always down for headcanons. Themie, remember when I promised a fic? This is the fic. :v
> 
> Happy Pliroy Week!
> 
>    
>  **Cross-posted in:** [FFNet](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12397813/1/Who-Made-You-King-of-Anything)
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I could only wish that my name was attached to Yuri on Ice. Instead, y'all will remember me as that weird fan who keeps making Pliroy rom-coms.

Yuri didn’t bother holding back his sigh this time. He plopped down unceremoniously on one of the sofas of the large hotel lobby and leaned back bonelessly, grateful for the solitude and reprieve the current hour provided.

After arriving back in Russia, he’d been bombarded with impromptu interviews left and right, and rabid groupies asking for selfies and autographs everywhere he went when he went out for some fresh air. Tomorrow was finally the Rostelecom Cup’s Short Program competition for Men’s Single and Yuri had been doing his best to focus and train to the very last minute that he would be allowed, but the constant interruptions and flash of cameras was starting to frazzle his nerves, for some reason.

 _Get a grip, you idiot!_ he berated inwardly, almost growling. _The battle’s tomorrow! You can’t start chickening out now!_

The blond groaned in frustration and rubbed his hands on his face vigorously as if to rouse himself from such negative thoughts. He wasn’t usually like this. Having skated ever since he could walk, Yuri’s never been more confident and sure of himself anywhere else than the ice. The ice was his domain—his playground. He’s already a conqueror at such a young age, having won numerous competitions in the novice and junior division.

But…

Yuri pulled down his hands, mulling up at the decorated ceiling of the lobby with glazed eyes. But he knew this wasn’t just another playground.

This was the senior division’s road to the Grand Prix Final. He had finally made his senior debut back at Skate Canada and now, he was going to aim for the qualifiers in the Rostelecom Cup—right here in his motherland.

And tomorrow, he was finally going to face off against Ken again and—

“Yuri!”

The blond skater jolted at the call, before scrambling to his feet as a dark-haired man walked up to him. Yuri couldn’t help the pleasure from breaking out onto his face, as much as he tried to school his expression into something nonchalant.

“P-Papa!”

Standing before him was his stepfather, five-time world figure skating champion Yuuri Katsuki. It was hard having the same name and career as him, but they’ve managed to make it work somehow. Yuuri was only a few inches taller than his son, but between the two of them, the older man seemed like a wimpy guy standing next to Yuri. He had already retired five years ago and was now a full-time coach, but there was still that same old quiet vigor in him that had always astounded people. It wasn’t noticeable at first glance, but it was still there.

Yuri was well-acquainted with it. He had been enamored with it for as long as he could remember. His father’s inner flame was what inspired him to follow in his footsteps—or rather, his skate trails.

“I thought you were already back in your room,” said Yuuri, sounding concerned.

Yuri shoved his hands down his pockets and shrugged. “I’m not tired yet.”  

“We lost you back there at the plaza.”

The blond couldn’t help grimacing. “They had _cat tails_ for me. I wasn’t going to stick around for that!”

His father laughed, remembering the time Yuri had been forced to wear cat-paw mittens along with a cat-ears hairband by his fans. “Yuri’s Angels” were a tenacious and rowdy bunch, but they wholeheartedly support Yuuri’s stepson in his career—and for that, the man really couldn’t fault them.

“It’s not funny…” grumbled Yuri, turning his face away as he wished he could shrink into his jacket. He tried to not remember all those embarrassing photos his fangirls took of him and had sent to his father.

“Now, now... As a skater, you also need to be on good terms with your fans. What would Lilia have said if she had seen you back there?” reminded the older man gently.

“You know I don’t care about that old hag,” retorted Yuri with a petulant humph. But they both knew that Yuri had to take that back at some point. Old Lilia Baranovskaya was the blond teen’s ballet teacher and Free Skate choreographer ever since he debuted as a senior skater. The Russian woman was already in a wheelchair but she was no less daunting. If anything, the former ballet principal was even more frightening when she’s verbally cutting you to shreds whilst sitting down.

Yuri bit back a childish whine. As much as he appreciates Lilia’s teachings—and here Yuri would at least honestly admit that the ballet classes really _had_ helped in polishing his movements on the ice—she really wasn’t the person Yuri had been hoping to be his choreographer when he debuted. It should have been—

“Yuuri~! Yurio~!”

Out of nowhere, a silver-haired man came barreling down from the entrance, and Yuri could feel his good mood from earlier shrivel up almost instantly.

The familiar intruder immediately hugged the dark-haired Yuuri from behind as soon as he was close and he nuzzled the other’s cheek lovingly. Satisfied—Yuri can almost hear the man _purring_ —he finally turns to the blond teen and untangles his arms around—

“DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, VIKTOR!” Yuri prepared his fists and his favorite kicking leg, half-leaning away for a run just in case his limbs wouldn’t be able to defend him from the clingy man. He felt a bit of embarrassment as his words echoed and all eyes on the lobby turned to him in interest, but Yuri forced himself to ignore them in favor of the danger before him.

Viktor pouted pleadingly at Yuri, and the expression was strangely half-unfitting for a 37-year-old man and half-befitting of the airheaded idiot. “But Yurochkaaaaa…” he whined like a pup.

“ _Nyet_ ,” declared Yuri firmly, crossing his arms. “Go do it with Ken or something. I don’t want your gross hugs.” He wasn’t a little kid anymore, dammit.

Viktor pouted some more, hugging Yuuri again for comfort. “лапушка, our Yurio is growing up too fast.”

The other man just laughed and patted his hand. “Your son has an image to uphold, Vitya. And as I recall, so do you.”

“I never cared about that!” protested Viktor petulantly, looking at Yuuri with a serious expression. “Remember when I became your coach?”

Yuuri, for his part, couldn’t help looking wistfully at him. “Yes. I do.”

“So do I,” groaned Yuri as he shrank away from the idiot couple that was starting to get really lovey-dovey in front of his virgin eyes. He always hated it whenever Viktor interrupted his and Papa’s moments. The silver-haired man _did_ have a right, but just because they’re married doesn’t mean he gets to encroach on Yuri’s Papa Bonding Time. The husbands get enough of each other every night, _for fuck’s sake_.

(He pointedly ignores the fact that he and Viktor had been living away in Russia for most of the years while Yuri trains, so the husbands don’t _really_ get enough of each other every night.)

Yuri could feel his veins pulsing on his forehead as he watched Viktor distract his Papa from him all the more. As the _other_ legendary five-time world champion in men’s figure skating, Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov had been the pioneer and king of their wintry world for a time… until he decided to fly all the way to Japan to coach a recently-defeated Yuuri Katsuki, that is. That was ten years ago, but Yuri could still remember arriving at the family hot springs for the first time. He could still remember being five and feeling so angry at his stepfather for dragging him all the way to another country just to see some stupid rival of his. Yuri took a peek at Viktor—who was currently spouting sweet crap at his Papa—and he huffed in exasperation.

Honestly, sometimes he still couldn’t believe he had been left in the care of someone as airheaded as Viktor Nikiforov.

It was always weird and tiring to explain how his childhood had worked to others—Viktor was technically his stepfather, but so is Yuuri—so nowadays, Yuri just tells a version where his first few years were omitted. His biological mother had married Viktor when Yuri had been three. He never met her first husband—his biological father—and so Viktor had been his first real father-figure, so to speak. They were never close, though, despite Viktor’s efforts. Yuri was more fixated on his mom, and he had hated that this stranger was trying to take her away from him.

Until she suddenly left without so much as a goodbye, that is.

It wasn’t really sudden—their divorce had gone on for months and it was the scandal of the figure skating world, Yuri had heard. But when she had left the house, she hadn’t taken him with her as he had been expecting. She had left him at the mercy of someone he couldn’t care less about. It took a year before Yuri finally warmed up to his stepfather, and when he did, Viktor had suddenly decided to quit skating—to leave the glory, the fame, and the limelight behind—and become a coach to some wimpy skater in Japan.

Yuri was as shocked as the rest of the world. He had been seeing his stepfather pore over these videos and articles about a certain skater, yes—apparently, the guy had skated a perfect copy of Viktor’s routine and his video had gone viral, (which Yuri had replayed quite a few times, and he wasn’t about to admit that to Viktor…)—but he didn’t think it would prompt Viktor to quit so suddenly. But nevertheless, to Japan they went, and father and son and their precious dog and cat wasted no time in seeking out Yuuri Katsuki.

This part of his story the world knows well. After all, it had witnessed the unfolding of the romance itself. As Viktor trained Yuuri, coach and skater grew closer and closer, until finally, they got engaged in Barcelona for the Grand Prix Final Yuuri had been training for. (There were different accounts of this, in which this particular exchange of rings wasn’t actually official, but Yuri didn’t care. It fucking happened in Barcelona, in front of a fucking church, with a fucking _choir_. He had _been_ there—hiding.) The two subsequently married when Yuuri bagged his first Worlds gold medal. But behind the dazzling love that Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki had shown, there lay a quieter, sweeter love that had blossomed between Nikiforov’s stepson and his student. Yuri wouldn’t admit it to gushing fans or prying interviewers, but when his father had been coaching Yuuri, little Yuri had fallen in love with him, as well. Underneath all his temper and aloofness, Yuri had been yearning for someone to smile at him again the way his mother had.

And Yuuri Katsuki did, not wanting anything in return.

Little Yuri had wanted a mother figure in his life.

And Yuuri Katsuki provided, despite his gender.

Thus, when his father and Yuuri finally married, Yuri never hesitated to call him Papa the first chance he got.

(And it was with satisfaction that he found Viktor in tears that day, torn between happiness—at Yuri’s approval and love of his new step-parent—and jealousy—at Yuri’s obvious favoritism between his fathers.)

Yuri felt his jaw clench. His parents were still going at it, and Viktor was now shamelessly doling out innuendos that the blond’s teenage self could do without, thank you very much. Some people were already watching them with interest, but the two idiots were off in a world of their own. Honestly, sometimes he wished he wasn’t related to these two.

“Will you _please_ get a room if you’re done talking to me now?” he gritted out, trying not to shout. _That would be in bad form, Yuri, and you don’t want to shame Papa._

Fortunately, the sickeningly-in-love heads of the Katsuki-Nikiforov household finally snapped out of their high and turned to him. “S-Sorry, Yurochka,” mumbled a pink-faced Yuuri, adjusting his glasses.

“So, why is our little tiger still up?” asked Viktor smoothly as he put an arm around his husband’s shoulder—as if he hadn’t been about to jump him just a second ago.

“I’m fifteen, not ten. I can stay up late, okay? And the night’s still young,” snapped Yuri, pocketing his hands roughly. The opening ceremony at the hotel had finished half an hour ago and Ken had decided to drag them all out to the plaza to see some fireworks. It was now practically ten in the evening.

(So actually, the night was no longer young, but Yuri wasn’t about to admit that he couldn’t sleep yet out of nerves.)

“You should be getting some rest, though. The Short Program is tomorrow,” reminded Papa needlessly.

“Is _Ken_ resting?” retorted Yuri. In fact, where _was_ Ken? He should’ve been with them after Yuri left the plaza, but he hadn’t seen the older boy yet.  

Viktor understood his roving eyes. “Some of his fans found us at the entrance, so he’s entertaining them now. He won’t be long.”

Lucky him. Every time he saw Ken with his fans, they always seem so tame compared to his. Then again, Ken himself was the rowdy one amongst them, so he guessed that the boy was overpowering the fans’ own excitement.

“We’ll be having tea back at our room. Since you’re not turning in yet, wanna come?” invited Papa. Yuri opened his mouth, about to reply a positive—but he stopped himself. As much as he wanted to relax with his fathers, he couldn’t just yet. He should be preparing for tomorrow as much as possible, and while he couldn’t skate anymore for the night, he could still do some other stuff to psyche himself up for the coming battle. He shook his head.

“There’s something I gotta do. I’ll just see you tomorrow.”

“Whelp, since Yurochka is busy and Ken-chan is busy, I guess this means…” Viktor slyly caressed Yuuri’s thighs from behind and flashed him a mischievous grin.

“ _I’m going. Good night_ ,” intoned Yuri loudly, turning away with a harrumph as he fought the urge to kick his stupid dad for his stupid PDA. He wasn’t five anymore; he was almost of fucking age of consent in Russia, dammit, and almost-age of consent people _don’t_ lose their temper. He’ll show Viktor that he’s matured, dammit. He can ignore his obvious teasing, _dammit_.

“Yu.”

The blond skater turned back instantly, heart soaring as he heard his Papa’s special pet name for him. Yuuri ignored his whining husband in favor of walking after his young son. He ruffled his hair, displacing the hood always shielding it, and moved to cup Yuri’s cheek gently—lovingly. “I can’t wait to see your Agape tomorrow, Yu. I know you’ll do well and your father made sure of that. We’ve been perfecting the routine for you, after all.”

Yuri huffed, suddenly feeling warmth pool in his cheeks. He couldn’t really brush off Papa when he gets sentimental like this. It was too embarrassing for him. “You’ve been perfecting Ken’s program, too,” he said, a bit of envy bleeding into his voice. _He_ was Ken’s coach, after all.

“Yes, I have, because I want to see you give it all you’ve got out there—both of you,” reasoned Yuuri with a smile.

Yuri glanced away, still feeling the prick of jealousy inside him. It hadn’t really gone away after all these months, when he lost to Ken back in Japan. “I wanted _you_ as my coach…”

The older man smiled softly, rubbing his hand on Yuri’s cheek. He leaned conspiratorially to him. “Your dad wanted to teach _you_ , though. I told you before, right? He gets jealous of me when it comes to you.”

Father and son turned as one to peek at Viktor. He wasn’t looking at them, but they knew he was aware of his surroundings. “And besides, Yurochka, don’t you think it’s about time you spend your days with him? He became your coach so you two would be close, but the truth is, he just wants to be your father. You _are_ his son, after all.”

Yuri looked at his feet, suddenly feeling guilty. He never really bothered to seek out Viktor himself. Even after finally being on good terms, he still preferred Yuuri—even though Viktor had taken great pains to take care of him. They _do_ bond sometimes, but when Yuuri shows up, Yuri’s demeanor just obviously lights up. It’s only natural that Viktor would feel left out as Yuri distanced himself further from his family the more he aged. But that didn’t mean Yuri was opposed to being with him. He wasn’t actively pushing the man away. He just doesn’t want to be coddled like a baby.

 _He_ is _my father... What the hell is he thinking…?_

Suddenly, his Papa smiled and Yuri blinked at him in confusion. But the older man just hugged him and kissed his forehead. “Prove to him how much you’ve grown with your Agape. He perfected it just for you,” he said, reverting back to Japanese. “I know it’ll mean the world to him. And then it’ll mean so much more to me, too.”

Yuri felt his chest clench sweetly, and at that moment, he couldn’t be bothered to be annoyed with his stupid jealous Viktor. “ _Hai_ , Papa.”

“Yurioooo…” whined Viktor impatiently. “Are you trying to seduce your Papa away from meeee?”

“I’m going, I’m going! Stupid Viktor!”

“Don’t stay up too late, Yu,” called out Yuuri to his son. “If you’re not in your room by eleven, Georgi _will_ come find you.”

“Yeah, ‘cause we’ll be too busy by then~” sang Viktor lowly to his husband as he hugged him from behind once more.

“ _OYASUMI_ , YOU IDIOTS.”

Yuri stomped away, muttering about annoying fathers-turned-coaches and their damn libidos—but truthfully, Yuri also couldn’t stop himself from being excited for tomorrow. All his hard work was going to be on display at the rink for his motherland, so he was _definitely_ going to make Viktor hideously cry for him when he’s finished.

 

* * *

 

Yuri couldn’t stop himself from being nervous.

He was currently alone inside one of the large private lounges of the hotel overlooking the cityscape, with only a guard standing outside the doors, but he still couldn’t calm down. When he entered a while ago, he had been fine—he was even ready and excited to start psyching himself up with the music he was going to skate to. But after a few minutes of visualizing his movements on the ice, a fog of dread had slowly crept up to him from out of nowhere, and now he couldn’t concentrate on what he was listening to at all.

“Dammit…” He took off his earphones and flopped his head against the oversized armchair. Finding the patterned ceiling a bit dull, he turned his head to the cityscape the window next to him offered. He couldn’t help clicking his tongue. What was wrong? Sure, he was going to compete against Ken tomorrow, but that wasn’t new. They’ve always competed against each other as they grew up—they were practically each other’s biggest rival. So it couldn’t be that he was nervous about fighting against him.

Was it because he was going to show Papa how much he’s improved? That _could_ be it. But compared to Ken, he shouldn’t be as anxious. Agape was Papa’s short program in his third year at the Grand Prix Final, just after his first gold. It spoke of his unconditional love for the people in his life, most especially his husband and his sons. It fitted his overall image as a skater and a person. But Ken was going to skate to Papa’s Eros program. That had been his comeback routine for the GPF and it had been the complete opposite of his image, which was why Papa had managed to thoroughly surprise the audience with his return—and which adds even more to the pressure in Ken taking up the routine.

Papa had nailed the program perfectly despite its difficulty, and he even managed to display _eros_ on his entire persona.  Yuri knew Ken could handle difficult routines for a while now, but the real challenge lay in exuding _eros_ throughout the short program. The other blond had managed just fine throughout the competition, but he needed to place higher now to qualify.

Yuri shook his head, displacing the negative thoughts. What was he doing? He shouldn’t be worrying over someone else’s performance. Whether or not Ken nails the routine and qualifies is his own problem. After all, Yuri got this far just to defeat him once more, so he has to give a performance worthy of Yuri’s efforts. He wouldn’t accept anything less.

But still, Yuri couldn’t help pitying the other just a smidge. To think that, months ago, he had wanted to skate to Eros. Viktor was right, though—if they wanted to surprise their audience, they had to break away from what was expected of them.

The sweet, talkative fanboy Kenjirou portraying sexual love.

And the loud-mouthed, aggressive punk Yuri portraying unconditional love.

Yuri barked in laughter, the sound echoing across the large, empty lounge. Viktor sure had fun that day.

The blond shook his head wistfully, a small smile on his lips. But he could feel the heaviness still lingering inside him and he frowned in confusion. Why was he feeling apprehensive? It wasn’t Ken or Papa. It’s definitely not Viktor. Whether he wins or not, the man would still be hugging him while subtly poking at his mistakes. It couldn’t be Yakov or Lilia either. And he wasn’t going to have any special guests that haven’t watched him skate live yet. There was no reason to be nervous, at all.

Suddenly, the doors opened and Yuri heard fluent Russian echo inside as a few people moved to sit on a sofa on the other side of the room. He had been alone for a few minutes now because there were other lounges in the hotel and it was already past ten, but he should’ve expected that some people weren’t tired yet. Well, it was no big deal—as long as they don’t bother Yuri, he won’t bother them. He tugged his hoodie lower over his head and adjusted his seat, hoping his armchair would fully obscure him from them. He was faced away from the newcomers, so it probably did.

But as the group continued to converse in their mother tongue, the heaviness he felt started spreading inside his chest, and it took Yuri all his knowledge of calming a panic attack—courtesy of his Papa—to not leave the room prematurely.

 _Der’mo_ , he was nervous of _Mother Russia_.

For several moments, Yuri couldn’t understand _why_ he would be—he was fucking born and raised _here_ , after all—but then he suddenly remembered that he hadn’t actually always been with this place. When Viktor married Yuuri, they settled down in Japan for good. Aside from Yakov, a few fellow skaters, and Yuri’s grandfather on his mother’s side, he and Viktor didn’t have anything else that would tie them down back in their home country. Only the thought of Grandpa gave them pause, but the old man hadn’t hesitated in sending them off when he saw how genuinely happy Yuuri made them. A visit every year and phone calls every weekend was enough for him. And so other than that, father and son had no reason to stay in Russia. Hasetsu had unwittingly become the home they think of in the span of the eight months of training Yuuri.

When Yuri got older, his fathers decided that he should spend more time revisiting his heritage. And so, on top of the yearly visits to Grandpa, he had also spent some time here being in Yakov’s training camp for young skaters for his future career—which Yuri had vehemently pushed for, despite his parents’ reassurance that he doesn’t actually have to. Yuri ended up growing and spending half of each year in Russia and the other half back in Japan.

But in truth, despite knowing Russia, he doesn’t _know_ it as well as the other skaters under Yakov. His heart was torn between it and Japan, and since the latter was his home base, he was more partial to Japan. Russia was… where his mother had left him… and while the country didn’t have anything to do with that, the memory was still there.

He wasn’t like Viktor, who had spent 27 years of his life with the country. He couldn’t _be_ like Viktor, whom Russia had known as their national hero and golden boy in figure skating.

He was representing Russia, but he couldn’t—

He was _his_ son, but he wasn’t—

**_“Now”_ **

Yuri flinched.

**_“I rule the world”_ **

He reflexively looked at the speakers on the ceiling.

**_“And the starry sky”_ **

Yuri blinked.

**_“Spreading above”_ **

And grimaced when he recognized what song was playing.

The lounge had just been playing soft instrumentals when he entered, but now the latest annoying hit from JJ Leroy could be heard in the room. Yuri grumbled under his breath. Of course he would still hear it here. The blond looked at his lap and realized with a start that he had been gripping his phone. His music was still playing and his earphones were scattered haphazardly on his lap. His hands were shaking.

Yuri stared unseeingly at them, before he carefully acted. He let his phone go and clasped his cold hands to his mouth, slowly exhaling against them. He took deep, shuddering breaths and repeated the process, trying to block out all sounds—the familiar language from the other side of the room, the stupid song playing, the tinny music he could hear from his earphones—and just focusing on the warmth of his exhales. He didn’t do this often—in their family, his Papa needed the exercise more than they did—but he wasn’t stupid enough to not try it when he knew he needed it. He had started to doubt himself back there. He had almost let his fears win.

Fuck, no, that ain’t happening.

He wasn’t weak-willed like Papa—and even if he was, Papa continuously conquers his demons, so _he_ could do the same, as well.

(And Papa wasn’t fucking weak, dammit. Yuri mentally kicked himself for even thinking that.)

When Yuri had started his career, he had always been known as Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki’s son—their eponymous ice-skating lovechild, so to speak. He was a prodigy skater like Viktor, but he was also Yuuri Katsuki Junior. For a time, Yuri hadn’t minded. He had been proud to be known and recognized as Papa’s second, and being acknowledged as Viktor’s successor had been a huge compliment to him. His fathers were world champions, after all. But as time passed, Yuri started to tire of the titles they gave him. He wasn’t just their son and successor—he was also a rising star in his own right, and all the trophies and medals he had won in his childhood, he had gained with his own blood, sweat, and tears. Being a Katsuki-Nikiforov had nothing to do with the path he had skated on. That had only given him the spotlight—and Yuri could’ve gotten that on his own merit.

That was why… Yuri had promised himself that on his senior debut, he was going to prove to Russia and the world that he was _more_ than the next Viktor or Yuuri. The blond clenched his hands, resting his forehead against them. He was here now in his motherland—the land that expected so much of him as Viktor’s shadow—and he was going to face off against Papa’s protégé tomorrow in the Rostelecom Cup for the Grand Prix series. So much had been riding on his shoulders for so many years as he grew up… Yuri had always tried to brush it off and perform like he always did—like the ice was meant only for him.

But now… tomorrow, he had to prove that he can represent Russia as a senior skater just fine—just like he always did back in the junior division. He had to prove that he can skate on _that_ ice with his head held high.

He may not be Viktor…

But that’s fine.

He hadn’t been copying him, anyways.

Yuri exhaled with a huff and opened his eyes with determination shining in them. He could still hear the other guests in the lounge talking. Tomorrow, Russia was going to fucking like him, goddammit. His new goal, aside from beating Ken and making Viktor cry, was forcing Russia to accept his real identity. Maybe he could get them to cry alongside his father for how beautiful he would look tomorrow on that glittering stage. Lilia would laugh and smirk at his challenge.

He unclasped his hands and took his earbuds with purpose, ready to return psyching himself—

**_“I’m the king JJ No one defeats me”_ **

Oh, come _on_.

Yuri groaned loudly as the annoying song still played on the lounge speakers. Couldn’t it end fast enough? He was starting to regret coming here. The blond hadn’t wanted to stay cooped up in his room as he prepared himself; there was the possibility that Ken or his parents would interrupt him if he stayed there and he couldn’t have that. The lounge would have strangers, but Yuri had figured that he could find a room that wasn’t crowded or had people who knew him. He did find one and only a handful of guests came in to share with him, but he hadn’t been expecting to hear this stupid song play right when he was trying to relax.

Yuri hastily wore his earphones, eager to drown out the lyrics with soprano vocalization. He amped up the volume and leaned his head back on his armcha—

An upside-down face with dark shades on was smiling down at him.

“ ** _& @#$%!_**”

The rest of the occupants of the private lounge looked up to see a small teen stumble out of one of the armchairs on the other side of the room, next to the floor-length windows. A man was leaning over said chair with his back to them. After a beat, the group turned back to each other, ignoring the two playing. If they made a ruckus, the guard can always make them leave.

Yuri glared lividly at the dark-haired stranger hovering over his previous seat as he quickly stood up from his stumble. He fiercely tried to quell his embarrassment. He did not fucking _squeak_. Who the fuck was this, anyway, and why the fuck was he popping up out of nowhere?!

The guy was waving his hands in a calming manner, but Yuri couldn’t hear his words as his music reached a crescendo in his ears. The blond skater irritably plugged out his earbuds. “что это?!” 

“Ah, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” apologized the man sheepishly in English. “Really, I didn’t.”

Yuri grimaced. He couldn’t really tell if the other was being honest—the guy’s eyes were shielded, after all. For all he knew, that smile wasn’t actually earnest. “Then why the fuck were you hovering over me with that stupid look on your face?!” And where the fuck did he come from? Yuri hadn’t noticed him enter the lounge. Was he with those people there?

The guy paused, probably surprised that Yuri had responded back in English without the heavy accent Russians were known for. He always gets that remark. For Yuri’s part, being in a multi-lingual family had a lot of advantages. “Oh, I’m sorry. Really. I just got too excited, I guess,” said the guy, rubbing his nape as he chuckled apologetically.

Yuri raised a brow, weirded out by the other already. “Excited about _what?_ ” Was it because him? Was this guy a fan? He didn’t have the starry-eyed look they usually do, though—not with those shades on, at least. And the guy wasn’t clamoring to get his autograph or anything…

“Well, I just wanted to ask, you see… It’s kind of a weird question,” said the man, folding his arms unashamedly on top of Yuri’s armchair as he kneeled on the other armchair behind it. Yuri moved to the other seat he had been facing before, hoping that the low coffee table and his previous place between them told the guy that he didn’t want to converse for long, whatever the topic was.

“Out with it already.” His earbuds were waiting for him.

The guy chuckled again. “Well, I heard you groaning a while ago… Not a fan of this song?”

Yuri blinked, and he realized that the stupid rock song on speaker was almost halfway to its end. He stared at the stranger in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Yuri had a tendency to run his mouth, and his Papa had always reprimanded him for his lack of self-control. But under these circumstances, he can be forgiven for wording his opinion crudely. “Did you seriously scare the crap out of me… just to ask if I _like_ that stupid shit?”

To his consternation, the idiot flashed him a carefree smile and shrugged. “Yeah?”

Yuri sat down swiftly and put on his earphones again. “No. I don’t.”

The guy’s lips parted slightly in surprise, but Yuri paid him no further mind. He had more important things to do than talk about over-the-top rock songs with some random stranger who has no sense of common courtesy. Honestly, if he had heard Yuri grumbling about it a while ago, then wasn’t it obvious that he wasn’t fond of it?

The stranger in question got off his chair, moving to stand beside Yuri’s previous seat. He mouthed something, but the soprano was belting out in Yuri’s music again and he hardly cared what the guy was saying now. He closed his eyes as he leaned his head back, hoping the idiot would get the message already.  

Something poked his forehead and Yuri snapped his eyes open to see the stupid stranger bending towards him. He was grinning.

Oh, he fucking _didn’t_.

Yuri swiped his arm, knocking the offending finger away, but in the process, his hand snagged his earphones’ cord and—

Latin choral music loudly played from his phone as his earphones hung loosely from him. The stranger’s brows rose in surprise while the group from the other side of the room turned to them once again. Yuri hurried to stop his music player, all the while colorfully cursing the man in Russian under his breath. Papa and Lilia wouldn’t approve, but Viktor may be proud. Maybe even Yakov.

“Huh. I never pegged you as the classical type,” commented the idiotic stranger, daring to rub his chin in thought.

“ _What the fuck is your deal?_ ” hissed a red-faced Yuri, having had enough of this nuisance. He came out here to relax and be alone; just because they were sharing the private lounge didn’t mean they were obligated to speak to each other.

“You were ignoring me,” said the guy simply, shrugging.

“Because you bothered me in the first place, and I answered your question already. _Now get lost_.”

“I have rights to this lounge, too,” said the guy cheekily, flopping down on Yuri’s previous armchair. Great, now he was facing the idiot. Yuri badly wanted to leave, but that would look like he was fleeing from the guy—and Yuri Katsuki-Nikiforov was no fucking coward.

Besides, as far as he was concerned, he was here _first_.

“That’s nice. Now leave me alone.”

“Seriously, though. I thought rock was more your genre.”

Yuri frowned balefully at the stranger. “It is, and many others. Thanks for the chat.”

“So wait, did you groan because of the song in the lounge or because of the song on your phone?”

Could he get away with socking a complete stranger with an audience watching? Probably not. Papa would be shamed for having such a hot-tempered son, not to mention Yuri would probably be disqualified for the GPF or something. It’s not worth it, at all—but damn, does Yuri want to give in to the temptation. The annoying face within his view was pushing all his buttons and he didn’t like it one bit.

“What part of ‘leave me alone’ do you not understand?” he warned with a fierce glare. “I said I don’t like that shitty song and I groaned because of it, yes, now _let me be_. I’m busy.”

He set up his earphones again, ready to ignore the man for good—

“Why not?”

Unbelievable.

“Do I have to translate my words into a language simpler for you or do I just have to kick those crappy shades off your stupid face?” spat Yuri out, feeling his cheek twitch. He was grinning, but ferally. Did this man really want to have a taste of the Ice Tiger of Russia’s claws?

Infuriatingly, the man laughed this time, and he now took off the offending glasses. “Seriously, though. Just humor me for a bit.” And Yuri blinked as an attractive—vaguely familiar—face unexpectedly greeted him.

His dislike of the guy went up just a little bit more.

“No.”

The guy paused, blinking at him, before he raised a curious brow and smiled amusedly. “C’mon, just for a bit,” persuaded Mr. Shady Shades with that tone that was starting to irk Yuri. “This is a survey I’m doing. Won’t you answer just a few questions?”

“Why should I?” The guy was genially smiling at him, and Yuri could almost see the careless curve to it. Ugh, there was arrogance in the air.

“You’re at just the right age bracket for asking feedback,” explained Mr. Fake Smile, pocketing his shades. “Teens, right? Uh… 15?”

Yuri’s brows rose in mild surprise. “Oh, wow… I guessed right,” said the man with a small laugh as he equally stared at Yuri with surprise. “Thank god for that… Well, then. What about the song do you don’t like?”

“Do I seriously have to let you interview me?” asked Yuri flatly, already feeling tired. His precious time was getting wasted by this annoying idiot.

Mr. Annoying Idiot dared to wink at him. “Well, I might bother you again…”

“I can call for security, but I don’t need to because I know how to fucking kick you out.” Just for good measure, Yuri whipped his leg up high—almost parallel to his upper body—and gracefully crossed it over his other one, all the while glaring at the man. He didn’t take all those ballet lessons for just nothing.

The man laughed again, shaking his head as he rested his chin under one palm. He flashed Yuri a small grin as he cocked his head to one side, studying him. At least he sounded genuinely amused—Yuri hated it when people were faking with him. It made him feel like he was inferior to them.

But Mr. Shades’ amusement wasn’t something Yuri wanted, either—despite his smile looking handsome and his laugh sounding nice.   

God, if this disheveled-haired, undercut asshole tried to flirt with him for his stupid survey, Yuri is going to fucking bust out the claws, reputation be damned. He’s had worse encounters.

_Think of Papa, think of Papa…_

“I won’t take too much of your time,” promised the stranger.

“Just hurry up already,” snapped Yuri, checking his phone. It was creeping half past ten and he had only eleven o’clock before he was really required to rest. Not for the first time tonight did the blond regret turning down his fathers’ offer of tea in their room.

“I’m Jean, by the way,” offered the guy. “And you are…?”

“Leaving, if you don’t hurry up.”

“Right, right,” placated Jean. He looked at Yuri curiously again before continuing. “Like I said, what about the song did you not like?”

Yuri grumbled about bothersome strangers and their shitty choices for conversation topics before he leaned back and closed his eyes to calm down. He only now realized that the aforementioned song had long since finished.

“It’s a classic earworm.”

“That a bad thing for you in music?”

Yuri snapped his gaze open, glaring. There was some subtle jab in there, he just knew it. “When they start invading your everyday-life and you want none of that shit, yes.”

The man hummed and tapped the side of his cheek, continuing to observe Yuri. Yuri raised a challenging brow, not tearing his level gaze away. Did he have a problem with his opinion?

“If you consider it an earworm, I take it there’s nothing bad about the melody of the song?” He was staring straight at Yuri with those light-blue eyes of his, and Yuri wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The lighting in the lounge wasn’t too bright or too dim, but the shadows upon their corner of the room and the distant illumination coming from the window’s cityscape view accentuated those blue orbs—and at this point, Yuri didn’t really wanna look too deeply at them.

This wasn’t Gay Chicken.

“Yeah. It’s fine,” Yuri admitted grudgingly. As much as he wants to actively hate on the rock song, it’s not actually all that bad, unlike some choice ones that are _really_ horrible. He just hates the fact that it’s a direct narcissistic tribute to its damn singer. That and…

Jean stared at him some more before opening his mouth. “Is there anything specific about the song that you’re not fond of or did you just groan in agony back there ‘cause it’s the tenth time you heard it today?”

“Both,” answered Yuri immediately—but the latter was a lie. He only heard it around nine times because Ken’s been blasting it from his phone since this morning just to annoy Yuri. It had been his revenge against Yuri tampering with his SNS account, and by noon, Yuri had been ready to admit that he shouldn’t have done that—or at least, shouldn’t have let anyone known that he hated that stupid song so there would be no blackmail material. He gets enough of that from the triplets.

Jean’s lips quirked in amusement at his quick reply. “What’s the specific part, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I do mind.”

“And?”

Yuri glowered at him and his weird accent that he couldn’t place. “Why do we have to hear _JJ fucking Leroy’s_ name all over the damn song, if you don’t mind me asking?”

At his expression, the guy laughed out loud again. Yuri was half-tempted to kick him and half-tempted to show a small smile. It seems the other understood what he was going on about.

“It’s only in the chorus,” reasoned Jean, sobering up.

“I don’t care. I don’t wanna be reminded that I’m listening to that guy declaring himself a king.”

“Aw, c’mon. It’s not _that_ bad,” persuaded Jean with a teasing smile. “The lyrics are pretty empowering, you know. He _did_ make that one for his fans.”

“While reminding them of his name, yeah.”

“Well, we all know how JJ is,” finally agreed the guy, looking strangely wistfully.

Yuri raised a brow before shaking his head. “Yeah, the song’s inspirational, I’ll give him that. But can’t he go about it in a way that’s not—”

“Narcissistic? Arrogant? Cocky?” Jean smirked at him knowingly.

“Pretentious.”

The guy’s blue eyes widened and Yuri had to stop himself from smirking at his little childish victory.

“P-Pretentious…?” It was strange watching this man try out the words as if he’d never uttered them before. “ _Pretentious?_ How so? How much? It’s not like he’s a bad artist.”

It was Yuri’s turn to look surprised. Jean sounded defensive. Was he actually a fan of JJ? This whole time he had been “interviewing” Yuri, it never occurred to the blond that this random guy could actually be a fan of JJ Leroy. After all, he hadn’t been angry when Yuri unabashedly confessed that he didn’t like JJ’s song. Usually, JJ Girls—and Boys, Yuri reminded himself—were like that. But Jean just seemed really curious as to why—though Yuri still couldn’t see why he would be.

“I don’t mean he’s a fake or something,” clarified Yuri with a wave of his hand. “But come on, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what?”

“JJ may look and act like a fucking peacock, but it’s obvious he’s just some ostrich with colorful feathers.”

Now Jean looked even more confused. “Because of his image…?” He frowned at Yuri—to which the blond blinked at. Jean clicked his tongue, looking away. “Isn’t that part of his charm? You know, being glamorous and all? He _is_ an entertainer. And besides, we always have those kinds of celebrities, anyway.”

“No, I’m talking about the way he _does_ all that.”

Jean frowned even more. “What?”

“We all know he’s flashy and showy, and he’s definitely got the skills to back up his arrogance, but it looks like he’s hiding something with all that pizazz.” Yuri sighed quietly and leaned his head back again, belatedly realizing that he had gotten a bit passionate back there. Why did he even start talking about this?

“… Are you aiming for a ‘compensating for something’ joke?”

Yuri raised his head to look at the man once again, partly because of his strangely-subdued voice, but mostly because… “I _am_ saying he’s compensating for something, but I don’t find it to be a joke.”

Silence suddenly existed between, the murmur of the other guests in the lounge providing the background noise during the interlude. Yuri had expected the slow furrowing of Jean’s thick brows and the small confused sound he emitted, but what he didn’t expect was to suddenly feel compelled to explain further—as if Jean’s silence itself was demanding an answer from him.

Yuri flopped his head back down again, staring at the ceiling. Maybe he _could_ give an answer. He never told this much to anyone he knew because it would feel… weird... having to talk deeply about JJ fucking Leroy, of all people... (Axel was the exception because _she_ was the one who had planted the idea in his head, and she’s always commented similar stuff about JJ to him, though Yuri never spoke about it much because he has an image to uphold, of course.) But maybe it _would_ do Yuri some good to share his opinion. Viktor always said that talking about things that bothered him was therapeutic, and while it sounded strange, something about the Canadian artist _had_ been bothering Yuri for a while now.

He was the kind of talented-but-arrogant ass Yuri would love to hate, but something underneath that smug little act keeps catching Yuri’s attention and… concern.

“His ‘theme song’ is the classic uplifting music meant for people struggling. And JJ being JJ, he left his name on it,” snorted Yuri, rolling his eyes at the arrogance of it all. “But honestly… Yeah, the lyrics are great, but they don’t _feel_ like they can fully reach out to you, unlike other good songs, you know? Like… JJ just hired someone to write for him, instead of him writing it _himself_.”

(Which was, of course, wrong since everyone knows JJ writes his own songs, but Yuri always felt that that was somehow a lie. There was something about his lyrics that nagged at Yuri…)

“You don’t think JJ wrote that?” he heard Jean ask softly.

Yuri raised his head and found the man leaning forward in his seat, his elbows on his thighs and his hands clasped and pressed against his chin. His light-blue eyes seemed unfocused as he stared at the carpet. Yuri’s lips pressed thinly. Being asked that—being forced to address that question—just solidified his feelings on the subject, and now Yuri wasn’t hesitant. “If he did, then he’s not pouring his heart out enough,” he replied certainly.

Jean raised his eyes to him, blinking. Yuri stared back and continued, feeling grimly serious for the first time since Jean approached him tonight. “Good music makes you feel things. The passion, the emotions… That’s why we listen to music, right? We wanna feel what they’re evoking. And that’s how you can tell if the music is good.” Yuri jabbed an index finger in the air, pointing to Jean. “JJ _is_ talented—I’ll admit he’s a good singer and a great role model when you lack confidence—but don’t you think he’s being a little too closed off as an artist? I hear empowering lyrics from him, sure, but why do they sound so grand that the song feels so far away? Why do they sound like he’s only half-singing with his heart and soul, and everything else is just glitter?”

“Let me get this straight…” Jean slowly blinked at him, mouth looking rigid as he steepled his fingers. “You don’t like ‘Theme of King JJ’ because it has his name several times on the lyrics and you find it pretentious of him because he’s not putting enough of himself in it as he sings it?”

“I don’t like it because he had this _one_ perfect chance to stop being a damn peacock, and yet he still acts like the most fabulous of them all. He had this one moment to have a heart-to-heart with his fans—to _really_ open himself up for them and do away with all the formality he’s been performing for—but instead, he fucking blew his chance and still did the song in his usual unreachable aura! He’s _pretentious_ in that he’s pretending to be something else, when it’s obvious that he really wants to reach out to his fans! Look, I don’t know about you, but at this point in his career, don’t you think it’s about time he stopped playing safe? Isn’t his stupid ‘JJ Style’ supposed to be about doing things his own way? Well, if he wants to reach out, then why doesn’t he just go and do it?”

Yuri bit his lip, not breaking his gaze away. JJ Leroy was an annoying celebrity that his friends often gossiped to him about. He really didn’t care much unless the guy was involved with some of his favorite artists. Honestly, he fucking hates how he keeps hearing about him despite not being interested. But those few times one of the triplets—mostly Axel—or Mila or even Ken made him watch his stupid music videos, Yuri always found himself frowning at the songs. There was something about JJ’s music that made Yuri feel like he’s not being… sincere. They were good, and yet… He honestly doesn’t know how to explain it—and Yuri was sure everything he had said to Jean sounded like bullshit at some point—but…

Jean opened his mouth then paused. He stared hard at Yuri and tried again. “What makes you think he lost his touch?”

“I didn’t say he lost his touch. I meant he’s trying too hard to be so flashy when he can just be simple. It’s not as if his fans would suddenly hate that side of him. I’m pretty sure they didn’t come to be his fans just because he was the human version of a disco ball. So why would he be toeing the line and not crossing it? That doesn’t sound like the very thing he’s advocating for.”

“What makes you say he’s pretending, then?” demanded Jean.

“I can tell when a smile doesn’t reach one’s eyes…” murmured the blond, gazing at the cityscape to his left. He’s seen enough of that kind of smile—and done enough of it—to be familiar with it. “And I know he’s hiding something.”

“What makes you so sure about all this?”

The skater turned back to his interviewer with a frown. “I’m not just referring to ‘Theme of King JJ’ anymore. Almost _all_ his songs sound like he’s struggling for… for… _something_. I don’t know what it is, but I know not everyone can see it—and I think JJ’s banking on that.”  

Jean huffed and tugged on his disheveled hair. He closed his eyes with a grimace. “What exactly are you trying to _say_ , kid?”

Yuri glared, finally feeling exhausted after everything today. He was not a damn _kid_. “I’m _saying_ he has a chance to make great music—he’s got potential to be even _better_ than he is right now—but he’s stuck being just like all those other mediocre artists out there who are afraid to take risks!” he snapped, ignoring the curious looks from the group of guests on the other end of the room. Jean opened his mouth to counter him, but he wasn’t going let the guy. He asked for this and interrupted Yuri’s night and so by god, he was going to get it.

“And _yes_ , I _know_ that he is taking risks himself. I’ve _heard_. Everyone keeps talking about him and his stupid guts so much, okay? But you know _what?_ He’s trying _too_ hard to impress the world and _now_ his risk-taking is just coming off as conceit rather than courage—and it’s making people misunderstand him. He could be making amazing music that would rock people to their core right now, but what is he doing? Keeping himself at arm’s length and making more stupid and useless songs because everyone believes he’s this egomaniac rockstar, that’s what.”

Out of all the unamused expressions he’s seen Jean sport towards him, this one was by far the most tingling and piercing of them all. Yuri couldn’t decipher what it was exactly, but he wasn’t about to take back his words just because the dark-haired man made him feel uncomfortable for the first time since they started talking. It didn’t matter if he was a possible fan anymore; Yuri was now steadfast in his opinion about JJ Leroy, and his family and friends knew how stubborn he could be.

Jean sighed gustily, brushing back his hair and letting it get messier. He raised tired blue eyes to Yuri’s green ones, and Yuri blinked when he noticed a different sparkle within their depths.

“Well, if you’re so unsatisfied with JJ Leroy’s current work, then what _do_ you want to see from him?”

Yuri blinked. “Why do you wanna know?”

“I’m doing a survey, remember?” said Jean with a small smirk. “Or did you enjoy my company so much that you forgot?”

“As if!” But Yuri fell silent as he considered the question. He had verbally admitted that he saw potential in JJ fucking Leroy—and here, Yuri was now inwardly palming his face in sheer embarrassment and self-loathing—so if he could make the singer change for the better, what _would_ he ask of him?

“Well?” repeated Jean, scoffing. “You had a lot to say about his flaws, so I’m sure you have some _suggestions_ on how to—”

“I want him to be sincere.”

Jean stared at him, but Yuri lowered his gaze on his lap and began fiddling with his earphones.

“I want him to… to sing from the bottom of his heart. I want him to enjoy performing not because it validates him as a person and all his insecurities, but because he genuinely loves what he’s doing. I want him to not hold back when he’s writing his songs. I want to hear his song and realize it’s him talking to me without saying his name to remind me. I want to hear his heart speak to me in a melody he likes and chose on his own. Because if he did all of that… then I’ll finally be able to feel his music—and I won’t hate it anymore. And that’s how music _should_ be done, anyways.”

The dark-haired man was still staring at him silently, and so Yuri shifted his gaze to the window view, suddenly feeling exposed. “I…” The blond gulped, clenching his jaw. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like him, okay? He’s so stupidly overconfident and smug that not a lot of people even wanna stick around him for so long. But… But his music…” Emerald-green eyes squinted as if trying to find something amidst all the glitter of the lights. “His music _can_ make you feel things. Sometimes. I-I don’t know! Like I said, he has potential! He can do better! He can be more than what he usually is!”

Despite the rambling, Yuri chewed his inner cheek, quickly getting lost in thought. He could remember hearing Papa’s theme song for the first time, feeling that sudden urge to make graceful arm movements and join Papa as he danced. He could remember blanking out during a routine for the very first time, letting the music guide his body just as he had seen it done so to Papa and Viktor for years. He could remember a brown-haired girl staring forlornly as she sat at a piano, and could remember his own hand coming up to rest reassuringly on her shoulder as she turned to him with uncertain eyes.  

_“You can do it. I know you can!” he had said._

_The girl bit her lip, looking warily at the instrument._

_“But how…? I’m no genius like you…”_

_“That doesn’t matter! You wanna make me dance with your music, right?!”_

_Brown eyes flicked back to him, and Yuri grinned widely._

_“Then make me music that’ll make me dance! All you have to do—”_

“—is to be honest with yourself.”

A faint, sharp intake of breath made Yuri flinch, and he realized the words had actually come from him. Jean was staring at him like he’d grown another head, and Yuri couldn’t help clearing his throat.

“I-I mean, e-every artist should be honest if they wanna succeed in making their fans happy,” he tried to add. An image of the hesitant brunette girl flashed before him. His heart clenched. “If… they wanna succeed in making _themselves_ happy.”

All those nights of faint discordant notes coming from the music room and scratch papers filled with musical staves and alphabet keys…

“… JJ calls himself a king, right?”

Jean jolted out of his stupor at the strangely-amused question. “Y-Yeah…”

“Then he _should_ be more honest with himself. After all…” Yuri turned to him with a wry smirk. “Aren’t great kings supposed to be the most honest men in their kingdoms?”

He really wasn’t sure what he expected from his annoying companion after that embarrassing and weird speech of his, but it definitely wasn’t him laughing out loud again. And like before, it was this big and deep, hearty laugh that made Yuri feel even more embarrassed to be at the receiving end of—which was strange since he wasn’t being mocked, if the sound of Jean’s laugh was anything to go by.

But he couldn’t really stop his cheeks from heating when Jean looked at him with those blue eyes shining in warmth. “Hey… be real with me for a sec, will you?” asked the guy as he tried to calm his amusement. “Are you _sure_ you’re not a fan?”

“O-Of course not! Haven’t you been listening?!”

“But would you ever be a fan?” asked Jean with a soft smile.

“You clearly haven’t been listening…” grumbled Yuri, palming his chin as he stared hard at the twinkling cityscape and avoiding the man’s gaze in front of him. He willed his face to stop with the blushing, but even his traitorous heart had picked up speed at the sight of Jean’s handsome features lighting up at him. _Oh my god, NO, stop it_ , he inwardly groaned. He really shouldn’t have answered the question while thinking about Axel alongside JJ. His mouth softened at the thought of her, and for a moment, he thought back to his words.

The oldest of the triplets was trying to make her own music, and Yuri had actually half-spoken that heartfelt wish to JJ for _her_. Yuri knew she could do it, and he was backing her with all he’s got; among the three girls, she was the closest to him because of their mutual love for music, so of course he was going to be her first supporter. The past few years hadn’t been easy for his friend.

But because he poured his heart out for her sake, now Jean thinks he’s got something for _JJ Leroy_ , god forbid.

“Well, for someone claiming to not be a fan, you sure seem to know an awful lot about him…”

Yuri whipped his head, glaring at Jean despite his red face. “First of all, don’t you _dare_ call me a stalker. The _only_ reason I know this much is because my childhood friend is a fan of his and is studying to be a composer. And of course, who else would she pester with stupid JJ but me? And she’s not the only fan I personally know of. Almost all the people I’m close to that are my age seem to be in love with that idiot, so would you blame me for finding my life a living hell?!”

Jean laughed again, waving a placating hand for Yuri to stop glowering. “I get it, I get it. No wonder you’re so annoyed at his theme song.”

“Damn right I am,” huffed the blond, lounging back against his armchair. “Not only that, but I follow some artists online and they’re kinda connected to him, so I can’t help hearing about him sometimes.”

“Really? Who are your faves, then? Since you don’t like JJ, that is,” teased Jean.

Yuri glared at him before looking sheepish. “My tastes are pretty varied,” he said, scratching his cheek. “But… I guess I could say that I’m fond of The Scribe, F.A.B., Cold Day, New Chemicals, and this up-and-coming band named PARIS.” Varied was an understatement—his tastes were _everywhere_. He didn’t bother mentioning his obsession with J-Rock.

“What about solo artists?” asked the dark-haired man, resting his chin on his palm as he peered at Yuri curiously.

“Mmm… I guess I like RINK… Eddie Mercury… and Abele a lot…”

“What—Abele? For you? Seriously?”

“Hey, she’s a great singer! And I told you my tastes are varied!”

Jean chuckled unashamedly, much to Yuri’s chagrin. “Are you really into classical, though?”

“Oh.” Yuri’s eyes glanced down at his phone. Right, he had heard what he was listening to a while ago. He felt his cheeks coloring again. “That was choral. And… well… I know a few pieces. And I like some of them, yeah… I mean, when you hang out with a composition major crazy about classical piano, you tend to acquire some taste for the genre. So… yeah. But I mostly just appreciate them. Not really big on the genre.”

Jean nodded in understanding, sporting a dorky smile that made Yuri’s eyes narrow in suspicion. He smiled. “No wonder you care so much about JJ…”

“I just like popular music to not suck so much, okay?!”

“Right, right… Hey, I’m curious,” Jean suddenly remarked. “Do you have a pop song that you consider good music? You know, what you were talking about a while ago?”

Yuri raised a brow. He hummed in thought, trying to remember anything that fit the bill. It would be a shame to not find anything and display himself as an ass to a mere stranger... _Ah, I know!_ “You know Little Minx’s song about exes? That one.”

“Really? You relate a lot to it?”

Yuri fixed him a glare for the doubtful tone and the bug-eyed look. “No, I don’t. But I can feel how great it is to be successful in life even after getting hurt. That’s what I want from music.”

Jean canted his head in thought. “Making you feel something you haven’t experienced yet, huh…”

“Yep.”

Jean huffed in laughter, looking wry. “Funny. The only reason ‘Theme of King JJ’ is being played so much lately is because of exes.”

Yuri’s brows rose. “What? What do you mean?”

The other man blinked at him. “You haven’t heard…?” At Yuri’s confused expression, the dark-haired man thinned his lips, before deciding to go ahead and answer. “Well, JJ recently… broke up with his… girlfriend…”

Yuri’s lips formed a small, silent gasp. “Oh, right… I forgot.” Granted, Yuri had been quite busy training for the Rostelecom Cup, but he _had_ heard that piece of news. It was hard to avoid it when one was active in social media. But he didn’t realize that JJ’s theme song became pretty active _because_ of that. He had released that album a year ago, while the break-up happened just two weeks ago.

And honestly, he really didn’t care about that idiot’s love life.

“… You really think JJ can make a song like that one?”

Yuri blinked. He looked a somber Jean in the eye… and eventually nodded. “Yeah… I think he can do it. He’s got the basics of how to make earworms down-pat already, if anything.”

Jean quietly laughed with glittering eyes. “ _Eh, ben, je devrais vraiment t'embaucher comme conseiller ou quelque chose dans le genre…_ ”

“Hm?” Yuri frowned. Was that French? That sounded like it, but it was so softly spoken…

Jean shook his head with a smile. “Nothing, nothing. JJ’s fans sure are something, huh?”

“I’m not a fan.”

Jean laughed again, but in response to the remark, Yuri just shrugged. He really didn’t care about them as long as they weren’t bothering him. He’s got enough on his plate.  

“I recall that you think JJ ‘fucking blew his chance’ with his fans in his song?” remarked the man, rubbing his chin in thought.

“He did,” agreed Yuri immediately. “Also…” The blond glanced at him, before looking away. “You were right that I found it ironic that JJ’s name keeps popping up in his lyrics but he wasn’t spiritually in it much.”

“I could tell,” said Jean with a grin. “But in regards to his fans, why? What would _you_ have said to them in you were the one writing it?”

“Huh?”

“Imagine yourself in JJ’s shoes. You just had a break-up and your fans comfort you by playing your song. You then decide to thank them with another dedication song. What would your lyrics be?”

Yuri blinked in surprise. Then his thoughts turn to _his_ fans. The blond didn’t need to wonder why Jean suddenly looked concerned for him—Yuri was currently resting his forehead against his steepled fingers and looking constipated.

“Hey… You okay…?”

“… I’d tell them they’re pretty… loud and annoying.”

“… What.”

Yuri nodded to himself, lost in thought. “That they’re pushy and over-eager and not really good listeners when I tell them to fucking stop dragging me around. That I’m too old for their stupid costumes that they force me into, because dammit, I’m almost ready for consent in Russia, okay?!”

“O-Okay…?”

“But…” Yuri glanced at his phone, where several carefully-selected photos of him and his fans were safely stored in a password-protected album that he made sure to hide from his nosy family. “I’d also tell them that… I don’t deserve them. That they don’t really need to keep cheering me on.”

The blond skater smiled softly at the thought of his mischievously-precious guardian angels—all young and old gals who find his love of cats utterly cute, much to his exasperation. “But since they’re taking the time to do that… I’ll promise them that I’ll work hard and become someone worthy of their applause every single time.”

“You know…” Yuri startled out of his stupor, looking up at Jean who was now grinning impishly at him. “That’s almost exactly what JJ’s been trying to write in his songs for his fans.”

Yuri frowned and fought to keep his heated cheeks in check. “Yeah, well, he should try harder ‘cause I don’t see any results yet.”

Jean chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “All in good time.”

Yuri peered at him, curiosity battling inside him. It was really, _really_ suspicious now. “Speaking of fans…”

“Hm?”

“Are _you_ a fan of JJ?”

“Eh?” It was peculiar, but Jean’s lips slowly turned into a pinched smile in the face of Yuri’s questioning gaze. “Why do you ask?”

“Well… you seem to know an _awful_ _lot_ about him,” retorted Yuri this time. “And you were defensive of him a while ago. And you did this whole survey of his song. What are you, his manager or something?”

“W-Well…”

But Jean never got to finish that as a rowdy group of girls suddenly burst into the lounge, shattering the peace. Yuri could see the lone security guard try to intimidate them out of the room, but their numbers proved too much for him and they eventually made their way inside. When they quickly scanned the place and locked their eyes onto Yuri’s direction, the blond couldn’t help feeling panic and his sense of self-preservation rising. He almost leapt to his feet.

_Goddammit! And here I was, just thinking nicely of my stupid fans and now they’re gonna—_

Yuri was having an internal meltdown, he knew it. He found Jean looking at them with wide eyes, and his stomach dropped. He didn’t know how long they had talked, but Yuri had to admit that it was pretty liberating not talking to someone who knew him as a famous figure skater. He didn’t even realize that Jean hadn’t known who he was. He became so engrossed in their debate that he forgot to assess that fact. For the first time since he landed in Russia, he felt like a normal person talking to a complete stranger. No wonder Viktor fell in love with Hasetsu all those years ago. Anyone tired with trying to keep up an image would want to stop being famous.

But now Jean was going to know… and things may never be the same again. Yuri was surprised to find that he’s actually come to enjoy his and Jean’s conversation. He honestly wouldn’t mind chatting with him again—despite the other’s tendencies to tease the hell out of him.

Yuri gritted his teeth. Well… whether change happens or not, he still wasn’t going to let his fans pester his new acquaintance. There have been some instances wherein his girls scared off some people trying to talk to him, and he had always hated it. Yuri opened his mouth, ready to snap at them— _politely, politely_ —if they start screaming or something.

“JJ!”

_… Wait, what?_

“Oh my god, you really _were_ here!” squealed one of the teenage girls who quickly rushed to Jean’s side. Yuri’s jaw dropped as all of them then proceeded to circle around his companion, practically ignoring him.

_What?_

Jean chuckled nervously, trying to calm the rambunctious fans down out of respect to the other guests of the lounge room who were now staring in keen interest at the commotion. “Now, now… no need to crowd. Let’s all behave, okay?”

_What._

“Sir, I am very sorry!” said the security guard in accented English, who came back with a few reinforcements after he failed to corral the intruders. “We will get them—”

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine!” reassured Jean as the girls started complaining and fussing at the guards trying to usher them away. “Really, it’s fine. I’ll just entertain them for a bit if that’s okay with you guys?”

“Ahhh… You will have to do that outside, sir…” said the guard apologetically.

“Yeah, I guess so…”

_WHAT._

“JJ, can we have your autograph?!”

“And selfies, too?!”

“We went to your concert, by the way!”

“We just want you to know that you still have us even if your girlfriend left, so you don’t have to worry! We’ll still support you, no matter what!”

“Um, girls… why don’t we take this outside, hm?”

_WHAT THE FUCK._

Yuri could hear the other guests talking in Russian amidst the squealing.

“Oh? That’s that rockstar who just had a concert here?”

“Yeah, I heard he was staying at this hotel.”

“Wow, we didn’t even realize that it was him all this time.”

“Hey, isn’t that one of the Katsuki-Nikiforov boys?”

( _WHAT THE FUCK???_ )

“L-Ladies, ladies, one at a time, okay? And let’s do this at the hallway, instead. We’re kinda disturbing the other people here…”

“Oh, JJ, you’re such a gentleman~!”

( ** _OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?_** )

The girls were blocking Jean from Yuri, and Yuri was sure Jean couldn’t properly see him from all the flailing his fans were doing to seek purchase upon his revered body. So, after denying himself a while ago from the urge, a stony Yuri Katsuki-Nikiforov finally gave in and shoved his face into his hands. He could feel his stomach caving in inside him and the sensation reminded him of that one time he had thoroughly embarrassed himself in front of Papa.

He was an idiot.

He was a _fucking idiot_.

Jean.

JJ Leroy.

 **_Jean-Jacques Leroy_ ** _what the fuck he was a **fUCKING** **IDIOT** — _

To be fair, Yuri had never really bothered with the rockstar much. He hadn’t been lying when he said that the only reason he kept hearing about him was because Axel loved annoying him about the Canadian fool, and Ken and Lutz kept harping about his clothing line, and Mila and Loop kept squealing about his spectacular ass. So yeah, it wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t realized who he had been talking to for the past several minutes.

It wasn’t his fault that the vaguely-familiar face of tanned skin, light-blue eyes, thick eyebrows, and styled undercut black hair that he had seen in music videos before had been overshadowed by the very handsome face of tanned skin, shining cornflower-blue eyes, strong jawline, and artfully-disheveled dark hair.

It wasn’t his fault that his companion’s strange behavior during their debate hadn’t struck him as noteworthy and important enough to investigate into.

It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t remembered that JJ was short for “Jean-Jacques” because the damn idiot keeps using that nickname as his stage-name.

It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t found it weird that a random guy suddenly came up to him to talk just because he had groaned at a hated song that played over the speakers.

Yeah.

He could be forgiven for not realizing all that until someone fucking _shouted_ the guy’s real identity within his earshot.

Yuri groaned in agony as the fangirls squealed even louder over JJ’s— _JJ FUCKING LEROY HIMSELF_ —acquiescence of their demands. He almost gave in to the urge to bash his head against the wall—or the coffee table, or the floor—but he withheld himself with such difficulty as he swiftly remembered that there were other people as their audience right now.

Yuri slowly put his hands back down, gripping the armrests—in horror or slowly-building anger, he wasn’t sure. The security guards were still there, trying to calm the group down as JJ tried to sway them to the direction of the door, and his fellow countrymen of guests were still watching the event with amusement in their eyes.  

That’s right. His reputation was at stake. He was Yuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, the Junior Grand Prix Final gold medalist in men’s figure skating. He was in his motherland right now and he had a reputation to preserve—if not for himself, then for his family.

Technically, he had to preserve his dignity, too, but he can just pretend none of the past—Yuri quickly checked his phone—fifteen minutes had ever happened.

Those past fifteen minutes he spent educating Jean-fucking-Jacques Leroy about how he can make his music better, that is.

Yeah.

He can do that.

(what the fuck he only gave a speech to JJ fucking Leroy for fifteen fucking minutes how the fuck why the fuck did it feel longer hOW)

Pocketing his phone and earbuds and arranging his hood as his disguise, Yuri stiffly got up from his oversized armchair and hurried past the clamoring group as inconspicuously as he could, intent on reaching his suite ASAP. The night was still young (still a lie), but right now, the blond wanted nothing more than a nice empty room he can freely yell into, thank you very much.

Plus, there was the chance that JJ wouldn’t leave after entertaining his fans, and Yuri was so not sticking around for _that_.

“Ah, wait! You’re leaving already?”

Yuri froze by the exit. That was weird. There was _no way_ that was disappointment in JJ Leroy’s voice. Right?

He didn’t need to look to know that everyone was now staring at him. Yuri was used to the spotlight—being the son of world champions, after all—but even _he_ had to admit that the situation was getting really unpleasant for him.

_It never happened. Just walk away. It never happened. Just walk away. It never happened. Just walk a—_

“But… we’re not done with the survey yet! I-I mean—I haven’t gotten your name yet, have I?”

Yuri’s head slowly turned back towards the dark-haired man who had unapologetically ruined the rest of his night. Was he fucking _serious_ right now? Something slow but hot and painful clawed its way up inside Yuri’s chest and he could feel a glare forming as his mouth opened and closed, trying to formulate words that the asshole behind him deserved. Red haze clouded his mind and his conscience’s voice was lost amidst the anger and humiliation that was consuming him, but for once, Yuri wasn’t trying to hold back anymore.

“Is he a friend of yours, JJ?” inquired one of the girls, peering at Yuri’s shaking form.

“Ah… Y-Yeah, we just—”

“… Oh. My. God.”

“ _Yurochka?_ ”

Suddenly, the air shifted and Yuri’s stomach plummeted even further.

“YUROCHKA, IT _IS_ YOU!”

Yuri was out the door before they could blink.

Almost immediately, the girls were right behind him, cooing endearments and demands of selfies and him wearing this cute cat outfit they bought him—and Yuri repeatedly kicked himself mentally for not considering that they might actually be part of _his_ fanclub as well and just hadn’t noticed him in the midst of them trying to find JJ.

As the blond skater ran for his life down the hallways, one thing was officially clear in his mind: he now fucking **_hated_** Jean-Jacques Leroy, his potential great music be damned.

 

* * *

 

Silently, JJ walked back to his room after almost thirty minutes of having to entertain another group of fans he had encountered in the hallway. Usually, the muted silence of hotel corridors unnerved the singer, especially at night—because horror movies have some truth to them, okay?—but for the first time, JJ basked in the tranquility that his chaotic mindspace badly needed right now.

_“Yuroch… ka…?” he intoned, still shocked after almost all of his fans suddenly darted after the blond guy he had been talking to just a while ago._

_“I-I’m so sorry, JJ!” said one of the only two girls to stay behind. “But I can’t believe it! You’re friends with Yurochka?!”_   

Languidly, JJ unlocked his penthouse suite. He had to carefully sneak his way in, lest any of the others were still awake. The common room was dark and silent, and so were the other bedrooms, but he didn’t want to risk it. He wasn’t up for talking tonight. Toeing off his boots as he closed his room’s door and taking off his jacket, he only switched on the lights outside his windows. His pair of shades fell to the floor with a muffled clatter and as he bent to pick it up, an image of the blond kid pouting flashed before his eyes.

_“Aren’t great kings supposed to be the most honest men in their kingdoms?”_

JJ’s jaw clenched, and he decided to toss the accessory to his bags and proceed to copy its movement on the bed. Not even the satisfying feeling of floppily bouncing on a downy-soft mattress could ease the turmoil in his mind. He felt like he was in a strong current of the ocean, constantly being pushed back and forth by the waves but staying afloat and calm. It was surreal.

_“Actually, no…” JJ answered as the other girl elbowed her friend meaningfully. “I just… met him. I’m sorry, but do you know who he is?” There was no way he was just an ordinary teen if almost all the girls who had been flocking JJ just a while ago left as soon as they realized who he was—Russian cooing echoing loudly behind them. Even the guards and the other guests looked shocked but pleased to see the blond._

_“I’m surprised you haven’t heard about him while you were here. He’s Yuri Plisetsky, our contender in the Grand Prix series for the Men’s Single this year! He’s practically a celebrity!”_

_JJ frowned. “Grand Prix…?” Racing?_

_“Oh, sorry!” said the other girl. “We tend to forget that people outside the sport don’t know the details... You don’t follow skating, right?”_

_Figure skating? Only his younger sister did. He would listen to her stories about it at times, but no, he doesn’t follow the sport. At his nod, her friend happily explained. “Yurochka is Russia’s representative for the one of the biggest skating competitions in the season!”_

_Cornflower-blue eyes widened and he really had to ask to be clear. “_ Figure skating _?” ‘_ That _angry kid?’ he wanted to add, but didn’t because these girls were obviously so enamored with said angry kid._

_The two fangirls nodded enthusiastically. “Ooh, I sure hope he gets gold tomorrow… But I kinda want Kenjirou to win, too…” sighed one of them._

_“I know, right?” whined her friend. “Why can’t they just split the medal or something? I don’t wanna choose between the two of them!”_

_As the two descended into half-Russian and half-English chattering, JJ slowly blinked as he eyed the lounge’s doors. He wasn’t too familiar with figure skating so he didn’t bother asking for more details. All he needed to know was that the blond guy’s name was Yurochka—Yuri?—Plisetsky and that he was actually a figure skater._

JJ closed his eyes with an exhale and raised an arm to block his shadowed view further, despite the dimness of the room. There were so many thoughts swimming inside his mind, and he badly wanted to get up and fuss over things in the room just to release all that nervous energy in him, but at the same time, he just wanted to feel grounded for once and collect all his thoughts.

When he had arrived back at the hotel, it was after a tiring day of sightseeing around Moscow. He had just recently had a concert here—really, it was just yesterday—and he and his crew were now taking a few days of vacation before moving on to the last country on his tour. JJ’s restless energy hadn’t dissipated even after the successful concert, so he had to walk around town incognito today.

The dark-haired man grimaced and turned to his side, hugging one of his pillows tightly and sighing deeply. Successful, his ass. He barely got through the past hellish days. Everyone had been in an uproar ever since the announcement of the end of his relationship to his girlfriend of four years just a few weeks ago. It should’ve been a quiet and solemn affair, but JJ was a fool to hope for anything like that. He was a celebrity—everyone talked a lot about celebrities. He could’ve handled the situation better if the break-up had happened during a lull in his career, but the issue with Isabella had reared its ugly head once again while he was preparing for his concert in Russia and before he knew it, social media had exploded when she publicly announced their status.

JJ sighed in aggravation and buried his face on the pillow. Belle really could’ve handled that part better. She could’ve at least waited for his tour to be over.

Breaking up with her had always plagued JJ’s mind. He wasn’t going to lie about that. He _did_ love Isabella for all the years she stood by him, but they both knew what their dazzling relationship truly was—a fraud. Belle had been his friend for several years and it had been easy to transition into a romantic relationship. It had been easy to let her run away from her feelings for another friend of theirs and pretend that what they had was real love. JJ loved her in his own way, and Isabella loved him, too—but Isabella was still in love with _her_ and JJ had always been a coward.

He had never really loved her _that_ much.

Honestly, he still can’t figure out how he ever thought that getting a girlfriend would boost his self-esteem and make things easier for him. Truthfully, it had just given him more standards to reach.

Belle, for her part, had only been trying to put the blame on herself so JJ wouldn’t be bothered much by the paparazzi. She had made it seem like she was the bad guy in their relationship, when JJ knew damn well that she was just another victim and they were both to blame. It was the guilt talking—that had been the catalyst to their break-up, when Belle just couldn’t continue pretending anymore. JJ had been trying to protect her from the harsh judgment of her family all these years—that’s why he had willingly become her boyfriend in the first place—but now Belle wanted to face them head-on. Maybe they should’ve never gotten together.

At the thought, JJ couldn’t help smiling faintly despite the melancholy. If they had never gotten together, he wouldn’t have had a break-up and his fans wouldn’t be continuously playing his theme song right now.

And if that hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t have met that blond tonight.

He sighed quietly and turned to lie on his back once again, hugging his pillow tighter. In the dimness of the room and the dark gray of the ceiling, JJ could almost feel the world sleeping. There it was again, that strange sensation of calm turmoil—like drifting senselessly in a raging, rain-battered sea. He couldn’t understand it. Every time someone criticized him—even just an offhand comment—an electric current of dread and unease crawls up his skin and seeps into his bones. It would take him all of his bright carefree smiles and joking laughs to wave off the worst of it, but even then, the feeling would stick for hours. But this time, it wasn’t a jolt that came at him.

It was like a blow that reverberated through his heart and veins.

When he had snuck into the lounge room, it was to avoid going back early to continue ignoring his phone and fussy band members some more. He had only been planning on taking a brief nap or idly gazing at the city by the window. When he entered the room and his song was playing, he had almost groaned in aggravation. It had been a _long_ day, after all. His fans had kept playing it for him because of his break-up. It was like karma for not being true to himself when he made the song. Remembering that bit, he _was_ about to groan by then…

But someone else beat him to it.

Looking back, that one shot of vodka he had tried earlier this evening might not have been the best decision he had made today. As soon as he heard the person sitting by the window groan at his song, an impish idea almost came to him and he found himself staring down at the stranger with a silly, almost excited, grin on his face. He hadn’t been sure if he was _actually_ tipsy, but the kid’s shocked yell and Russian curses had only fueled his addled and stressed brain into going through with his stupid idea. It wasn’t every day that JJ Leroy went up to strangers and asked for their thoughts on his music. Maybe back when he debuted and the person was Canadian, he would’ve tried that, but not now when he was at the top of his game and when he was in another foreign land.

But here was someone who obviously wasn’t fond of his overused theme song and probably didn’t care about his recent, controversial break-up, and would most probably give it to him straight and not bother coddling him.

At least, until they realize who he actually was.

The people closest to JJ would definitely shake their heads and say that his inner prankster was emerging again. He always did want to try talking to people who weren’t fans of his while in a disguise and see the looks on their faces when he finally did the reveal. Either way, he was bored and he didn’t wanna go back to his room yet or even encounter any of his fans that were most definitely hiding somewhere in this hotel. At the most, he would get an angry Russian glaring at him, but that was far more welcome than any sobbing fan trying to comfort him.

So he went ahead and asked for feedback.

What followed next, though, was something he had never anticipated. 

The blond kid was a perpetual frowner, with really good English and a secret penchant for classical music. JJ wasn’t sure what else to expect of the guy, and he had to keep reminding himself that just because the other was short didn’t mean he should keep calling him a kid in his mind. He was crass and blunt, and really wanted JJ to leave him alone. That already signaled that he didn’t know who he was talking to. JJ grinned to himself despite the blond’s grimace. He was going to have fun pulling his shades off.

But when he did, the other just frowned even more.

They continued the strange interview—with “Jean” always prompting the blond to offer more answers to keep it going. The teen didn’t recognize JJ, that’s for sure, and of course that would lead him to being even more frank with his words. It was a surreal experience for JJ, at least. For the past few years, he’d never talked to anyone who didn’t immediately know who he was. And now here was a highly-critical teenager who was calling his hit song shitty to his face.

He wasn’t really sure what to feel, but he kind of admires the kid for not holding anything back. Surely he had already had the suspicion that “Jean” could be a JJ fan, right? Either way, before JJ knew it, he was now taking the interview seriously. Since the blond wasn’t aware of who Jean was, it was the perfect opportunity to get frank feedback about his music. He might as well make something out of these past few disastrous days to tide him over for the next several weeks of media hell.

And then Blondie dropped the bomb.

Jean had been inserting a knowing tone to his words whenever he commented about JJ, and he even had one self-deprecating jab at his dispense, but never had he expected the other guy’s words about his rockstar persona to hit so close to home.

Pretentious.

He wouldn’t admit it, but out of all the insults he’d ever heard about him, that one actually stung. That was the first thing that startled him out of his high horse.

_“JJ may look and act like a fucking peacock, but it’s obvious he’s just some ostrich with colorful feathers.”_

It was true—JJ had adopted a glamorously edgy façade for his career. It was the only way he could cope with the pressure. But how could this non-fan know that it was all just a lie? Lucky guess?

_“We all know he’s flashy and showy, and he’s definitely got the skills to back up his arrogance, but it looks like he’s hiding something with all that pizazz.”_

Not for the first time did JJ suspect the blond of lying to him when he had said that he wasn’t a fan. There was no way he would care that much. The conversation had turned a bit too uncomfortably personal for him, but an annoying—right—part of him knew he had to hear this for himself.

 _“JJ_ is _talented—I’ll admit he’s a good singer and a great role model when you lack confidence—but don’t you think he’s being a little too closed off as an artist? I hear empowering lyrics from him, sure, but why do they sound so grand that the song feels so far away? Why do they sound like he’s only half-singing with his heart and soul, and everything else is just glitter?”_

And that was the second blow. _You’re lying_ , he wanted to shout. _What do_ you _know?_ he wanted to asked.

 _“I don’t like it because he had this_ one _perfect chance to stop being a damn peacock, and yet he still acts like the most fabulous of them all.”_

_Shut up._

_“He had this one moment to have a heart-to-heart with his fans—”_

_You don’t—_

_“—to_ really _open himself up for them and do away with all the formality he’s been performing for—”_

_That’s not—_

_“—but instead, he fucking blew his chance and still did the song in his usual unreachable aura!”_

_What would_ you _know?_

 _“He’s_ pretentious _in that he’s pretending to be something else, when it’s obvious that he really wants to reach out to his fans!”_

_You don’t know that._

_“Look, I don’t know about you, but at this point in his career, don’t you think it’s about time he stopped playing safe?”_

_You don’t know_ me _._

_“Isn’t his stupid ‘JJ Style’ supposed to be about doing things his own way?”_

_Stop pretending that you understand._

_“Well, if he wants to reach out, then why doesn’t he just go and do it?”_

_JUST SHUT UP!_

JJ pressed the pillow hard on his face and swallowed back… whatever it was that had wanted to escape his lips. He had to release a few deep, shuddering exhales before he was able to slowly pull the pillow down and face the ceiling coherently again. _He_ was the liar. _He_ was the coward. It had taken all of his willpower not to shout at Blondie and ruin things, but at the end of the day, _he_ was right and JJ was an idiot.

He _was_ hiding something.

He _was_ closed off.

He _was_ pretentious.

He _was_ playing safe.

Even before his career had launched, he had already been parading himself off as a glamorous celebrity. He only needed that title of “musician” to finally cement his popularity and stardom and he was set for life. But when all frippery was said and done and the door finally closed at the end of the day, the glittering rockstar in him dissipates and what is left is something he never wants any of his fans to see.

They deserve so much more.

They don’t deserve a pathetic loser like Jean-Jacques Leroy.

They deserve a god like JJ.

_“But even gods lose their way,” murmured Isabella when she thought JJ’s fading footsteps would mask her worried words._

The dark-haired singer buried his face once more on the pillow, groaning lowly as he suddenly felt wholly inadequate. The blond kid—Yuri Plisetsky—was right.  

He _was_ trying too hard, but that’s all he ever knew. Anything more personal of an image than that and JJ was sure he’d die of shame. He _was_ hiding something, and hiding it makes him invulnerable—or as invulnerable as he could be. He _was_ being unreachable, but that was only because when he gets hurt, he bleeds too much.

All of it had always been _too much_.

That’s why he had needed a mask.

 _“I’m_ saying _he has a chance to make great music—he’s got potential to be even_ better _than he is right now—but he’s stuck being just like all those other mediocre artists out there who are afraid to take risks!”_

The pillow slowly lowered again and cornflower-blue eyes peeked out, unfocused.

 _“And_ yes _, I_ know _that he is taking risks himself. I’ve_ heard _. Everyone keeps talking about him and his stupid guts so much, okay? But you know_ what _? He’s trying_ too _hard to impress the world and_ now _his risk-taking is just coming off as conceit rather than courage—and it’s making people misunderstand him.”_

He was better off that way. It would hurt less.

He was lonely… but it hurt less.

_“He could be making amazing music that would rock people to their core right now, but what is he doing? Keeping himself at arm’s length and making more stupid and useless songs because everyone believes he’s this egomaniac rockstar, that’s what.”_

If the price of his amazing music was to be vulnerable to the whole world, he’d rather be mediocre.

_It hurt less._

But…

No.

He…

He didn’t _want_ that.

Despite shying away from openness to others, the one thing JJ’s always prided himself on was his perfection and ambition. He got this far at such a young age—call it luck, but still being popular after three years meant his hard work was paying off. His blood, sweat, and tears had all culminated into this glorious career as an inspiration and idol to so many people… and so deciding that he would rather have mediocrity than improvement was a fatal blow to all of _that_.

It would mean betraying his own self—and he’s had enough of that for a while.

_“I want him to be sincere.”_

When he had asked the blond for suggestions, he hadn’t been serious. JJ was feeling particularly prickly after his criticism, and that was honestly more of a mockery than a legitimate question. But the blond still answered.

And he gave him no bullshit.

_“I want him to… to sing from the bottom of his heart.”_

… Why?

_“I want him to enjoy performing not because it validates him as a person and all his insecurities, but because he genuinely loves what he’s doing.”_

How do you…

_“I want him to not hold back when he’s writing his songs.”_

How did you know…?

_“I want to hear his song and realize it’s him talking to me without saying his name to remind me.”_

You…

_“I want to hear his heart speak to me in a melody he likes and chose on his own.”_

… I’m not worthy.

 _“Because if he did all of that… then I’ll finally be able to feel his music—and I won’t hate it anymore. And that’s how music_ should _be done, anyways.”_

I don’t deserve…

_“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like him, okay? He’s so stupidly overconfident and smug that not a lot of people even wanna stick around him for so long. But… But his music…”_

You’re right. You’re so right. So please… don’t…

 _“His music can make you_ feel _things. Sometimes. I-I don’t know! Like I said, he has potential! He can do better! He can be more than what he usually is!”_

I’m not… worth—

_“All you have to do is to be honest with yourself.”_

For a heart-stopping moment, JJ had been genuinely afraid that Yuri knew who he was—had known all along—and now he was telling him words that he didn’t really deserve. He had been coming apart as Yuri kept saying what he wanted JJ to do for _himself_ , and he was barely holding himself together to not break down in front of a complete stranger.

It took him Yuri’s embarrassed jolt to realize that the other had only been lost in his own thoughts and hadn’t actually been addressing him.

 _“I-I mean, e-every artist should be honest if they wanna succeed in making their fans happy. If… they wanna succeed in making_ themselves _happy.”_

How?

How does he know?

_“… JJ calls himself a king, right?”_

_Jean jolted out of his stupor at the strangely-amused question. “Y-Yeah…”_

_“Then he should be more honest with himself. After all…” Yuri turned to him with a wry smirk. “Aren’t great kings supposed to be the most honest men in their kingdoms?”_

JJ honestly hadn’t known what to do first. So he just did the usual thing he does when unsure: he laughed.

But funnily enough, it hadn’t been fake—didn’t _need_ to be fake.

The singer slowly realized as he teased Yuri and prodded some more information out of him that Yuri actually… meant what he said—both the harsh criticism _and_ the sincere wishes. Yuri wasn’t coddling him like the rest of the world; he was telling him to get up and _get things done if he wants them done_.

That, more than anything, had JJ smiling his biggest and truest smile since his break-up.

But then the illusion between them came crashing down when his fans entered the lounge.

 _Yuri’s fans, too_ , he reminded himself subconsciously. Remembering the scene, he huffed in laughter and tried to smother it with his pillow despite being alone in his room. No wonder Yuri’s “speech” to his fans sounded strange.

But even with the gaggle of excited girls, JJ could clearly see the moment the blond stiffened when he finally realized who “Jean” actually was. Before their conversation got deep, JJ had been anticipating amusement at Yuri’s expense when the reveal finally happens. Instead, guilt and dread swirled inside him when Yuri pointedly avoided looking at him. JJ had been about to set things straight when the fans beat him to it. He most definitely fucked up. Now Yuri thought he was playing an elaborate joke on him.

JJ had tried to salvage the situation—really, he did. He couldn’t explain it, but he just _knew_ that if he didn’t do anything at that moment, he was never going to see the blond teen again.

And he—most vehemently—didn’t want that.

_“Ah, wait! You’re leaving already?”_

_Yuri had stilled by the exit. JJ had tried to sound casual, but even_ he _winced at his words. Now everyone was watching them._

_“But… we’re not done with the survey yet!” he forged on, willing Yuri to stay so he could explain himself properly. “I-I mean—I haven’t gotten your name yet, have I?”_

Please stay. Please stay. I wanna talk more. I wanna see your reactions more. I—

 _When the blond slowly turned to him, slightly shaking, the dark-haired man immediately regretted opening his mouth. At the start of their encounter, Yuri had frequently glared at him to make his displeasure clear. But this… this was different. The blond teen looked downright_ murderous _. He seemed to be physically withholding himself from walloping JJ’s jaw, to be honest._

_JJ forced his lips to apologize, but he noticed a flicker of hurt in the other’s green eyes, and he found himself choking at his pathetic words._

_When the girls started squealing at_ Yuri _, he was gone before either of them could say anything. JJ wouldn’t have believed it, but the spiteful teen had actually turned pale for a split-second._

_None of that comforted him, though._

JJ sighed. So much for wanting to get to know the frank teen better. Serves him right for playing a trick on him.

But at least he had been forced to face his true self. If he had kept on ignoring his problem, who knows how much longer he would’ve made mediocre music? Who knows how much longer he would’ve moped about his situation? His break-up had definitely caused an uproar, but he— _JJ Leroy_ —wasn’t about to sulk when he could be doing more productive things.

Like Googling a certain figure skater, for example.

Encouraged by his thoughts and burning curiosity, JJ woke up his phone… and grimaced at the sheer number of notifications. He should’ve known. It was already Week Two but the number of messages hadn’t dwindled. His half-energetic performance at the concert yesterday was probably to blame.

Opting to ignore them all, he opened his Internet browser and started to type, when a message suddenly pinged across the screen. Isabella’s icon flashed with the speech bubble.

**_wanna talk?_ **

JJ paused, just staring at the words. Isabella had been pretty quiet after he complained to her about her announcement. They sort of had a fight with that and ended up ignoring each other for two weeks. Now, Belle initiated contact—and that meant an apology, which would lead to a deeper conversation about their troubles.

Right now, JJ wasn’t feeling up to it. The strange calm turmoil was still with him, and he didn’t know what would happen if he heard her voice right now. She could be just fresh from crying or could be possibly be feeling so solemn that her voice sounded flat. JJ would probably be the first to come apart because he hasn’t properly let out his emotions yet. He was still stuck in his “shell-shocked state.” It was only a matter of time.

**not tonight**

There was a pause, and then…

 ** _feeling tired?_** asked Isabella.

She knew it wasn’t just mere exhaustion. JJ was a night owl.

**yeah**

**gonna turn in**

It took a few more minutes before Isabella finally seemed reassured. **_okay… good night_**

They’ll talk when both of them are ready. Fortunately for him, Belle won’t resort to force unless the situation was very drastic. As he exited the chat screen, his thumb hovered over the search button. JJ had already typed in Yuri’s first name. Should he continue?

Wasn’t this considered stalking?

He had only met the guy for a few minutes and now he was checking him out. Wasn’t this kind of illegal?

As JJ battled with the pros and cons of Googling another person, he could slowly feel the sleepiness creeping in. He had walked around the city today, hardly stopping for long in fear of fans spotting him. He was going to feel tired early soon enough and that was what he have been aiming for when he set out today. Thinking about his enlightening conversation with the blond kid this evening had only sped up the process, it seemed.

 _Ah, what the heck. I can just ask Olivia about him tomorrow._ The singer didn’t bother thinking much on the subject anymore as he laid his phone away and turned on his side to doze off.

When he awoke next, his thoughts were now a complete 180 from what he had decided last night.

 _Mediocrity sounds good_ , mumbled JJ inwardly, blinking blearily at his phone. It was going to be a bad day, he could already tell.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, guys.”

Some of JJ’s crew and his little sister were just chilling in the common room after dinner. They turned to him in surprise, probably expecting him to hold out on leaving his room until they all slept. He _had_ been avoiding casually talking to them ever since his break-up was announced. The singer flashed an apologetic grin to the best of his abilities.

“Hey, you!” piped up Olivia, breaking the tension with her exasperatedly fond tone. “Where’ve you been all day?”

Leave it to his sister to bluntly break the ice. “You know where I was,” pointed out JJ flatly. He hadn’t locked the door.

At that, their drummer guffawed. “Well, yeah! You’ve been screeching all day in your room.”

“I did _not_.”

“Either way, we’ve recorded everything. Even that part where you sang that corny commercial jingle,” informed their production manager with a chuckle as she patted his shoulder consolingly—and winked at him.

“You did _what?!_ ”

His crew members only laughed harder as they slip past his vengeful arms. “It already has a million views online!”

“You assholes!”

JJ only shook his head in amusement and _tried_ to glare at the others as they teased him as well and went away to do their own thing. But internally, he sighed in relief. Looks like they weren’t _too_ bothered by his sudden reclusion... Maybe Dad had already talked to them. He doesn’t usually act like that with the people working with him. At the most, he plasters a huge smile on his face, no matter how tiring it could get.

He moved to share the sofa with a giggling Olivia and Gennie, his make-up artist. It was almost nine but some of their members sharing the penthouse were still out. “Did Dad talk to you yet?” asked Olivia, fiddling with her laptop.

“Yeah… We had brunch together.”

Olivia snorted. “If he hadn’t come to you, you would’ve never eaten.”

JJ decided not to retort to that. It was common knowledge among his peers that he tends to forget his surroundings when thoroughly immersed in his work—or when hardcore sulking, as his band called it. His parents were pretty much used to his bouts of isolation, and he was very much used to them bringing the door down just to force him to keep up with his three meals a day. While Mom may not be here due to his younger brother getting sick, his father was enough of a force to warrant letting him inside to save another door.

(It really wasn’t locked, but that didn’t mean JJ had been agreeable to letting people in today.)

It was embarrassing to admit to his dad that he was planning on staying in for the rest of the day because he wanted to whip himself up into a proper musician deserving of his fans, but Dad only had to see all the scattered papers filled with notes and his digital metronome ticking in the background to know what he was _really_ going through. He was only let off with a warning because he had ignored his dad’s calls yesterday, a strict instruction to take out Olivia for shopping tomorrow, and a huge plate of toasts with poached eggs and smoked ham to finish. 

Olivia eyed his pajamas suspiciously. “Did you even bathe?”

He had slept in yesterday’s clothes, so _of course_ —but she didn’t need to know that. JJ smirked evilly.

“Ewwwww!” They playfully wrestled on the sofa as Gennie watched on in amusement while she kept Olivia’s laptop safe.

“Aw, come on, Livie. Won’t you give your big brother a big hug~?”

“You’re gross!” laughed Olivia, and promptly shrieked when JJ tried to smother her cheeks with exaggerated kisses.

He was feeling lighthearted already, just going through normal moments like this. When he woke up today, he knew he had to do something about his mood, otherwise it’ll seep into tomorrow—and he didn’t want his last day in Russia to be as depressing as the past weeks. So he shocked himself into doing something he’s never done before: he wrote lyrics while not feeling his very best. Even when he debuted, he’s never wrote music when he wasn’t thinking clearly—and the haze of self-doubt, self-loathing, and self-deprecation had _always_ blinded him. He didn’t want people to hear sad shit from him—the reason he dreamed of making it big was to make people smile and laugh and dance and rock on with him.

But maybe that’s what he had needed all along. He _was_ close to his fans, but all they ever talk about, when given the chance, was how amazing and fun he was. He had tried to ignore this invisible barrier between him and them that prevented him from facing them wholeheartedly and prevented _them_ from accepting who he was.

He didn’t like who he was himself— _I could be better, I can_ do _better_ —but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to open up a little.

He was tired of this stagnant, stale place inside him.

He wants to move.

He wants to _breathe_. 

He wants to shout and scream from the top of the world that he’s JJ Leroy and he wasn’t just a dime-a-dozen singer whose name will soon be obscured by better names throughout the years.

Blondie was right. There were some points JJ wouldn’t agree with, but he was wholly right. It was time for The King to lay his heart on his sleeve.

(JJ wouldn’t willingly share exactly how _that_ worked out for him today. What happens in the hotel room _stays_ in the hotel room.)

Remembering the teen, he finally slowed down his tickle fest with his sister and let her bop him with a throw pillow for daring to exploit her weakness. They were still breathless so maybe the awe and eagerness in JJ’s voice got amplified a bit. “Say, Liv… You wouldn’t happen to know a skater named Yuri Plisetsky, would you?”

Both Gennie and Olivia turned to stare wide-eyed at him.

“Are you serious?” intoned Olivia with a mocking grin, sounding a bit incredulous that JJ would doubt her expertise—which he secretly did because Olivia had only recently gotten into figure skating, after all. The dark-haired man just raised a brow in question.

“Bro, he’s Russia’s golden boy right now! He’s this country’s current celebrity!  And he’s a _skater_.”

“Okay, okay, I get it...” Russia really had this thing for figure skating.

“How could I _not_ know him? He’s even more famous than you think!”

“Maybe even more famous than you,” quipped Gennie with a barely-concealed grin as she adjusted the cords plugged into Liv’s laptop.

“Hey!” JJ let himself pout. There were only the three of them in the common room, so no one was going to take a pic. _Maybe he is, though…_ He turned back to his sister. “I asked because I’ve never really heard about him from you, despite you constantly nagging me about your skaters.”

“Well, I just never talk about him ‘cause I like Otabek more,” retorted the redheaded girl.

Oh, JJ knew _all_ about Otabek Altin. Ever since Liv discovered he existed, she’s never quite shut up about him. His younger brother Vier has had enough of his twin’s obsession with the Kazakh skater, to be honest, and had recently decided that if anyone was going to continue suffering her constant fangirling, it was going to be their elder brother. Truthfully, JJ didn’t mind. Talking with Liv distracted him from his problems and the constant whispered taunts inside his head, so he’s not too annoyed about his situation. Plus, even he had to admit that Otabek Altin _was_ an amazing figure skater.

“So you _do_ know Yuri Plisetsky?” repeated the singer.

“ _Yes_. Gen, will you please debrief my other idiot brother?”

The make-up artist just laughed. She had also recently gotten interested in figure skating, all because of JJ’s sister. “Okay, so Yurochka—Yuri, I mean—has actually been competing ever since he was little. He comes from a family of skaters, you see.”

Damn. And that family was probably pretty famous in the skating community. JJ still couldn’t reconcile that image with the perpetually-frowning teen he met last night. But… _Huh. His family’s in one profession, too._

Gennie adjusted her glasses. “This year is his debut into the senior division. He’s currently competing in Russia for the Rostelecom Cup.”

“He’s also called the ‘Russian Fairy’ _and_ the ‘Russian Punk’,” added Olivia with a snicker.

Now _that_ , JJ understood. “Yeah, I guess I can see it,” he mumbled. When he first saw the blond, he had to remind himself not to stare—despite wearing shades. There was a delicate beauty to his fair features, but that was constantly marred by his glaring and frowning. It only came back when he blushed—while still glaring. Russian Fairy and Russian Punk indeed.

“Oh? Does this have anything to do with why you’re asking about him all of a sudden?” Liv had one red-haired brow cocked in unbridled interest, and JJ silently cursed himself for making it obvious for her.

“I, uh, kind of met him last night,” he half-lied. If anything, Gennie and Olivia’s eyes widened even _more_. “My fans suddenly started running after him, so I got curious,” he hurriedly added. That one was the full truth, at least. He wasn’t about to tell them that he had unknowingly walked up to Russia’s golden boy.

But he wasn’t expecting the two girls to laugh raucously. “See? He _is_ more famous than you!” wheezed Liv, slapping the back of the sofa in her wild amusement.

“Y-Yeah! Yuri’s Angels are like that. Can’t really blame Yurochka for running!” commented Gennie as she tried to calm herself.

JJ blinked. “Yuri’s Angels?”

“His fanclub. They’re pretty rabid.”

“Oh.” What did that say about them being his fans, as well?

“At least, for Yurochka,” added Olivia gleefully, almost immediately following her brother’s line of thought.

JJ frowned at her, before cocking his head in musing. So Blondie _was_ a figure skater, and he was a celebrity in Russia—so much that girls run after him. And yet, he still has the time to notice what was wrong with JJ.

“I’m guessing he’s won a lot of competitions to be so famous, huh?” remarked JJ, opting to ignore his previous thought.

“JJ…” called Gennie calmly, with her lips quirking strangely. Even Liv’s was, too. “He’s last year’s Junior Grand Prix Final gold medalist.”

JJ could feel his eyes bugging out.

Oh, wow.

Okay.

Um?

_Damn???_

He wasn’t knowledgeable about skating, but the words “Grand Prix Final” and “gold medalist” were too much of a big deal to _not_ matter.

Olivia snorted. “He’ll have to go through my Otabek first before he can snatch this year’s gold.”

Gennie rolled her eyes. “Say all you want, Livie, but everyone knows Yurochka will reach the podium no matter what. He’s a child prodigy—and an ambitious athlete. Plus, Otabek will have to go through Ken, too. And you _know_ he’s a top contender now that Yurochka is motivating him.”

As the two girls bicker about possible gold medalists, JJ leaned back and blinked at this new information. Okay, so little frowny Yurochka wasn’t just a celebrity skater—he was also an athletic genius who’s been in the business almost all his life, probably. (And holy shit, he’s only a year older than JJ’s siblings?) The image was still jarring, though. Yuri looked nothing like a seasoned winner last night. If anything, he looked worn and ragged. He was bristling all the time and JJ could plainly see that he really wanted to relax. But… there _was_ this defiance in his emerald-green eyes that had been goading JJ into teasing him, and maybe that was part of his skater image? JJ wasn’t going to be sure until he saw the blond actually skate.

“Any videos of him you recommend? I’m kinda curious now,” he admitted. He’s been curious about the teen ever since he said that he wanted JJ to be sincere.

“Even better,” said Liv with a grin. “We’re gonna watch the Rostelecom Cup right now. Wanna join us?”

How many times has he looked surprised in the last few minutes? “ _Now?_ ”

“Yeah! We told you he’s currently competing,” laughed Gennie. “The Men’s Short Program is tonight. Like, in a few minutes! See?”

When the brunette make-up artist turned Liv’s laptop for him to see, he was surprised to find a live feed of a skating rink already playing. “It’s already tonight?!” No wonder those two Russian girls last night were so excited. “But wait, why are you watching online? Aren’t they broadcasting this on TV?”

“It’ll be in Russian. We wanna hear the English commentators.”

Olivia grinned. “The pairs skating just finished and there’s a fifteen-minute break before the men’s division will start. I suggest you take the time to heat your dinner now.”

At the mention of food, JJ suddenly became aware of what hour it already was through his stomach. Ruffling Liv’s hair and earning a smack on the thigh, he got up and headed to the kitchenette with a slight tremble to his step. There was some leftover milk soup in the mini-fridge that Dad had most definitely whipped up for him.

(Actually, it wasn’t even a leftover. It was a separate serving already in a microwaveable container with JJ’s name on it. The rest was still on another huge container, but no one seems to have touched it. They all knew milk soup was his comfort food.)

Cornflower-blue eyes stared unfocused at the revolving plastic inside the microwave. Okay. So… he was going to watch Yuri Plisetsky skate. Right. He _had_ wanted to see it for himself. It was hilarious trying to imagine the angry teen try to dance like a ballerina. JJ had a feeling that he might laugh when it starts—and he can’t laugh because Olivia and Gennie didn’t know to what extent his acquaintanceship actually is with the blond skater. He wasn’t about to divulge that information so easily.

But for some reason, JJ also had the feeling that he _wasn’t_ going to laugh—and that, more than anything, made him nervous. There had been that green glint in the Russian’s eyes, frigid and searing all at the same time. It had frequently made JJ forget that the guy was four years his junior.

_Stop it. You’re just watching from a screen. He’ll never know unless you tell him somehow._

That hesitant feeling from before he fell asleep was back. Finding out more about Yuri Plisetsky meant crossing over a line, and what was strange was that JJ wasn’t sure if he should. It was enough that Yuri had pulled the rug out from under him—wouldn’t it be too much to reignite their connection? It wasn’t even a strong connection. JJ should just leave him alone for good.

But a small yearning part of JJ was already clamoring to know more. He’s never met anyone quite like Yuri. He was utterly, _incomprehensibly_ curious now—and a curious Jean-Jacques Leroy was an immovable object.    

Snatching a few bread rolls and dipping them all on his warm soup, he plopped down next to his sister as she adjusted the video’s volume and her portable speakers on the coffee table. He pretended that his heart hadn’t bounced in fluttering anticipation inside him. It was just a video.

“Okay, you need a crash course on figure skating competitions,” declared Olivia seriously as she full-screened the livestream.

JJ raised an amused brow as he licked his spoon clean. “You already told me about the different jumps, spins, and elements.”

“Yeah, but this time, it’s the competition itself.” Liv pointed to a group of text on one part of the screen. “SP stands for Short Program. It’s the first part of any event, and each short program of a skater runs at a maximum of 2 minutes and 50 seconds. Tomorrow will be the last part—the Free Skate or the FS—and runs at a maximum of 4 minutes and 30 seconds.”

“Will you be watching the Free Skate, then?” JJ remembered his dad mentioning how Liv would love to go shopping tomorrow and there was no one available to accompany her.

Olivia wrinkled her nose. “Depends on how the Short Program goes.”

But Gennie laughed and grinned impishly. “She means yes, she’ll watch.”

“Gen!”

JJ shook his head. “And what exactly is the… Rostelecom Cup?”

“It’s the event held in Russia. The Grand Prix series is a major competition spanning several months, with six international competitions giving the skaters a chance to earn points to be able to compete in the finals.” The young girl steepled her fingers as she watched the video, suddenly turning serious. “And the last event that will decide those top six qualifying for the Grand Prix Final is the Rostelecom Cup this year.”

“Relax, Liv. Otabek is safe,” said Gennie, scooting closer with a blanket on her lap. “The one who’s in danger of losing his spot is Guang Hong…”

**_“The first skater, representing South Korea: Seung-gil Lee!”_ **

When the girls quieted down at the announcement, JJ finally tuned into what the commentators were saying. It seems this Seung-gil Lee was a seasoned veteran in the Grand Prix. He slurped a spoonful of his dinner, watching with amazement as the Asian jumped high into the air with a “quad loop” as the commentator called it.

Throughout the program, Gennie and Olivia remarked on the man’s performance, sounding half-impressed with his choreography—“Did you know that ten years ago, he never even batted an eyelash during his routines?”—and half-afraid of his skill—“What if he wins gold? A lot of fans think he’ll place on the podium this year… And with Yurochka and Ken around, there’s no way Beka will win!”

Nevertheless, the South Korean’s score breaks past a hundred points and the audience loudly cheers for him.

When the camera panned to a tanned blond with slicked-back red-streaked hair and wearing a black skin-tight costume, both girls suddenly squealed. “H-Hey!” JJ shakily set down his bowl on the coffee table, sighing in relief that it didn’t spill. The two were still bouncing in their seats, looking like their most favorite band just came on.

JJ checked back on the video again. “I’m pretty sure that’s not Otabek Altin, so who’s that you’re cheering for?”

“Ken,” answered his redheaded sister distractedly. “Oh my _god_ , look at him, Gen! Is he seriously going to pull this sexy routine off?!”

“Liv, trust me. I’ve seen the Cup of China. He was a _total_ knock-out! I couldn’t even believe he was the same sweet flower child we all know and love!”

“I guess that’s what happens when your dads are hottest men on the planet, huh?”

JJ leaned back on the sofa in amusement, letting the two squeal it out some more. Figure skating sure was flashy. As the commentators remark on Ken’s past competition, the camera pans to the side of the rink—and he sees a familiar face.

JJ couldn’t believe it, but he actually looked like he belonged in that arena.

Next to a group of people watching the rink, Yuri Plisetsky stood rigid, avidly gazing at the current skater with steely eyes. He was wearing a hoodie again, but his ever-present frown was gone. In its place was something attentive and almost… anxious. That… wasn’t right. Was the angry teen from last night now worried about his opponent before him? He actually looked a bit tired. JJ frowned, unable to reconcile with the idea. Yuri was so confident last night.

_Was it… because of what happened?_

The dark-haired bespectacled man beside Yuri touched his shoulder, but the blond only nodded, never taking his gaze off the ice—or rather, off Ken.

**_“This is the first time Kenjirou and Yuri will face off against each other in the senior division. What do you think are the odds that their parents are betting on them, Gary?”_ **

**_“Well, I don’t wanna slander Viktor and Yuuri, but knowing those two, they’re probably getting even more competitive than their sons—oh, there it is! Viktor Nikiforov’s looking slyly at his husband now!”_ **

**_“And there’s Plisetsky looking at the camera! Ha ha, I never get tired of this. He always looks so done!”_ **

… Wait, what?

Their parents?

Their sons?

Viktor and Yuri?

“What are they talking about?” asked JJ, frowning in confusion as Yuri glared irritably at the two older men taunting each other—or at least, it looked like taunting. Viktor and… _another_ Yuri?

Sobering up from her laughter, Liv finally turned her attention to him. “Hm?”

“What do they mean, ‘their parents’?”

For a moment, his sister looked as confused as he did, then something seemed to dawn on her. “Oh, right! We didn’t go into the details, did we?” Now Gennie turned to him in curiosity, as well.

“Details?” prodded the singer.

“We mentioned that Yurochka comes from a family of skaters, right?”

**_“The next skater, representing Japan: Kenjirou Katsuki-Nikiforov!”_ **

“Well, Ken is Yurochka’s older brother~!”

 

* * *

 

Yuri gripped the barrier, not daring to look away. Ken was… Ken got even _more_ amazing. He had seen the other blond’s huge improvement from their Hot Springs on Ice face-off when he watched the Cup of China. Ken was finally nailing his jumps, and he actually landed his quad Salchow. Looking at him now, all uncharacteristically alluring and seductive in that black suit, made Yuri realize with a flicker of dread that… his Agape was probably going to pale in comparison to Ken’s Eros.

_No! Stop that! They’re on opposite sides of the spectrum. There’s no point in comparing! You’re here now and you need to focus!_

He finally took off his earphones, finished with mentally prepping up with his song.

His song…

An annoying face of dark hair, tanned skin, and gentle blue eyes—

The blond immediately clamped down on the thought and banished it away. He was here inside the arena now, where only the ice mattered. He may have lost some sleep over fury at what happened last night, but that was then and this is now. This was just his nerves talking, bringing up unpleasant memories that will distract Yuri from giving his all. He may have failed spectacularly last night, but the same wasn’t going to happen today. Hell _no_.

Shaking his head, Yuri slowly proceeded to inhale and exhale, trying to calm his heart and thinking back to his current opponent. Back in the junior division, he would also feel nervous going up against Ken because the older teen was naturally charismatic and that had always reflected on his performances. All Yuri had was his natural talent.

Ken excelled at PCS, while Yuri dominated the TES. That’s how it had always been.

But now, Ken’s base TES was slowly rising, and he was starting to be daring with his elements, too. At this rate, he was going to bag the gold tomorrow.

_Stop it! It’s not the end of the world! Your Free Skate will pull you through! This is just the Rostelecom Cup! Whether he wins the gold or not doesn’t matter—Barcelona is the end goal!_

Like Ken, he’s refined his routine for months—and his skill for _years_ —and he’s not about to go down without a fight. Viktor had fitted the program for him, old man Yakov had continued “coaching” him despite his age, Lilia had choreographed his Free Skate despite no longer being able to dance, Ekaterina had taken time off from Bolshoi just to be Lilia’s model and instructor for him, Georgi had briefly coached him alongside Mila when he wanted to learn about ‘Tano jumps, and Grandpa sent him his favorite pork cutlet pirozhkis today despite being unable to attend.

He’s gotten enough— _more_ than enough—help to propel him into the finals, and Ken’s improvement was _not_ going to stop him. For these few hours, they were rivals. On this ice, they were enemies. And Yuri was going to win this round.

_“Another flawless performance by Kenjirou Katsuki-Nikiforov!”_

“Ken-chan! That was perfect!” shouted his Papa, applauding proudly.

“Amazing, солнышко!” yelled Viktor, looking like he was Ken’s coach instead.

Yuri clicked his tongue. He was _not_ pouting, dammit.

Ekaterina came to stand behind him. “Yurochka, are you ready?” she asked with the strangely-soothing Russian lilt of her voice.

Yuri pulled down his jacket’s zipper without any hesitation. “I’ll show him who the _real_ star of this stage is.”

Always late, Viktor turned to him with an excited smile. “киска, you’re u—”

With satisfaction, Yuri filed that slack-jawed look away within his precious memories. When Papa came to turn to him, his hazel eyes lit up so much that Yuri was sure he’d combust from pure, unbridled joy.

And then Ken came gliding towards the exit, chick plushies under one arm and looking out of breath. When he looked up to see who was blocking the path, Yuri almost swore he choked as his jaw hit the floor.

“Out of my way, _Aniki_.”

Kenjirou wordlessly stepped aside, silently following Yuri’s majestic form with dumbfounded eyes. Their fathers kept staring in amazement. Ekaterina only flashed a watery smile at his back.

He felt _really_ good right now. Powerful.

Kenjirou was the first to recover. “Tha-That’s… Yu-chan’s real Agape…!”

Yuri swiftly looked over his feathered shoulder, glaring intimidatingly at his brother—but failing with the pink on his fair cheeks. “And you can bet your ass I’ll make you cry over it.”

Kenjirou only looked even _prouder_ and was on the verge of tearing up. It never did take much for the older teen to get emotional. Deeming that enough of a challenging threat, Yuri glided away, trying to will his cheeks to cool down.

“Not really very Agape of him, though, huh?” commented Viktor with a snicker, watching Yuri’s form with exasperated fondness.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, so let me get this straight…” ventured JJ slowly, pointing his spoon at the screen. “That silver-haired guy is Yuri’s dad, and that guy with the glasses—who also _happens_ to be a Yuri, but a Japanese Yuri—is Ken’s dad. They used to be skating legends. And ten years ago, they got married so Yuri and Ken are stepbrothers. And they’re rival skaters, too.”

Gennie and Olivia nodded enthusiastically—glad that the rockstar hadn’t gotten _too_ confused with their hurried crash course on the Legendary Skating Family. The break between each performance was pretty short, after all. “Honestly, we just call them brothers,” clarified the make-up artist. “The stepbrother title practically stopped mattering after a few years into Viktor and Yuuri’s—the Japanese Yuri’s—marriage.”

JJ leaned back in satisfaction, getting more spoonful of soup. When Liv had dropped that particular bomb on him a few minutes ago, he had almost shouted his utter befuddlement. But the girls immediately shushed him, wanting to wholly focus on the Japanese skater’s rumored sexy routine. JJ had to wait for two minutes before he could ask for clarification, but at least those two minutes hadn’t been boring.

Yuri’s brother was unbelievable. From a seductive smirk to a fast-paced dance number _—“Step sequence,” corrected Liv_ —the tanned blond had enthralled the audience until the very end. JJ wasn’t even watching this from the arena, but even he could feel the electrifying aura of the routine. And this was choreographed by his silver-haired dad, and performed by his Japanese Yuri dad ten years ago and won the Grand Prix Final with it? _What?_

Blondie’s family was _unbelievable_.

As Ken skated to the exit, the camera pans to a waiting Yuri and the commentators immediately take notice.

**_“Katsuki-Nikiforov is coming back and his little brother is waiting for his turn to conquer the ice now. Looks like he’s fired up from that flawless performance of Kenjirou’s.”_ **

**_“He_ ** **has _improved so much since their Hot Springs on Ice event. I’ll even go the extra mile to say that Plisetsky is probably feeling threatened now.”_**

**_“Well, considering how ecstatic both of his fathers are over his older brother’s achievement, it’s no wonder he’s eager to fight for some attention.”_ **

JJ frowned in thought. “Why is his surname different, by the way?” One dad was a Katsuki, while the other was a Nikiforov. Where did “Plisetsky” come from?

“Well, he _does_ share his name with one of his dads,” reminded Gennie. “Yuuri Katsuki’s already retired, but Yurochka still wanted a name of his own. So he decided to use his mother’s maiden name for his stage-name.”

Huh. That makes sense. The blond skater does seem like the type to care about stuff like that, wanting a name for himself. It must be hard being in the shadow of his parents, after all. And now all of a sudden, JJ appreciates Yuri’s decision all the more.

When he tunes back into the livestream, the image of Yuri gracefully shedding away his jacket and revealing a glittering white costume will probably be forever etched into the back of his eyelids.

“OH MY _GOD!!!_ ”

 **_“Whoa-ho-ho, Plisetsky’s ready to_ ** **slay! _”_**

 **_“I think Russia should be more careful on who they’re cheering loudly for from now on, because_ ** **that _is one Katsuki-Nikiforov demanding his throne!”_**

“God, I love these commentators,” remarked Gennie amidst Liv’s screams in the common room.

For some reason, JJ’s throat felt dry, and his mouth now felt like a permanent O. Seriously, how many times has he looked surprised in the past several minutes?

“Look at him! _Look at him! He’s gorgeous!_ ”

JJ could barely snap at Olivia’s shaking of his arm—subconsciously glad he had set his bowl down once again. He was far too busy wondering how the _hell_ Blondie could look so regal in that sparkly leotard. He still looked tired with those faint shadows under his eyes, but they now pale in comparison to Yuri’s changed countenance. Gone was the avid interest on his face a while ago, and in its place now was a calm indifference that enhanced the blond’s beauty even more.

No—that’s not calm indifference. That’s…

_Cool… confidence…_

He _was_ ready to slay.

**_“Ohohoho? Looks like the younger brother is issuing a challenge!”_ **

**_“Like fathers, like sons, I guess!”_ **

They really _were_ his family—they hadn’t even batted an eyelash at the blond’s glare!

“You think he can pull this off better than Ken?” he heard Liv ask.

“He’s in his _country of birth_ right now, Livie. Yurochka may not do a perfect routine like Ken just did, but he’s not about to go down easily when Russia’s expecting him to win. He’s frighteningly stubborn like that.”

JJ agreed. That sounded a lot like him. He could still remember his stubborn spirit in laying out his opinions of JJ.

But when Yuri came back to the side of the rink with a troubled expression, he couldn’t help but worry.

 

* * *

 

Yuri silently cursed, trying to control his erratic breathing. The good feeling was gone now. He didn’t feel powerful anymore. He could register Viktor and Ekaterina delivering a pep-talk right in front of his face, and Papa and Ken waiting at the Kiss and Cry by the corner of his eye, but darkness swam at the edges of his vision and all he could hear was his heart beating ominously.

_Calm down. You’ll do fine. Calm down. You’ve done this program a hundred times already._

Had it always been like this? He couldn’t remember facing off against Ken with a feeling like this. What was different this time? They were just older, more experienced than before.

“Юрочка! Юрочка!”

“Давай, Юрий!”

He wanted to run. But there was nowhere to run—he wouldn’t _let_ himself run. Viktor had been so proud of him, making it this far—had _always_ been proud of him, now that Yuri let himself notice it—and it wasn’t fair to just back out because he couldn’t stand the voices all around the arena.

He wasn’t some wuss—and he was most definitely _not_ a frightened little toddler anymore. He was last year’s Junior GPF gold medalist and almost of age of consent—which meant it was only a matter of time before he was a full-fledged adult in the eyes of the law. He wasn’t _afraid_.

But the murmurs of Russian crowded all around him, and the ice felt like it might shatter beneath him any moment now. His coach’s face blurred amidst the multitude of colors, and Yuri vaguely registered his own lips whispering his name.

“Yuri? Yuri! What is it? What’s wrong?”

Huh… That was funny. Viktor would always call him some sappy nickname of his. But his father was addressing him in their mother tongue—and it wasn’t helping Yuri’s constitution any better.

_Calm down. Calm down. Calm down!_

“Son—”

**_“The score for Kenjirou Katsuki-Nikiforov is 108.49.”_ **

Roaring applause filled the arena, and Yuri could feel a sudden whoosh of air filling him as the noise forcibly dragged him back into coherent awareness. Papa hugged Ken, who had stood up in incredulity at the announcement and was now yelling in happiness.

He did it again. He beat his personal best _again_.

The darkness was coming back.

“Yu-chan!”

Yuri jolted, green eyes widening as he registered his older brother’s figure running up to him. What was he doing? The press still wanted pictures of him and Papa.

“Yu-chan, you better not be chickening out now!” warned Kenjirou as he gripped Yuri’s shoulders, looking fiercely pumped up.

“What…?” voiced Yuri weakly, faintly recollecting a similar lecture he told himself some time ago.

Kenjirou shook him. “This is the second-to-the-last stage! Don’t tell me you won’t be making it!”

At that, Yuri felt annoyance spiking inside him, and he shrugged off Kenjirou’s hands with a scoff. “Huh?! Who do you think I am?! I’ve won way more international events than you, idiot! You think I can’t handle the Rostelecom Cup just because I’m new in the senior division?! You should be worrying more about yourself!”

But Kenjirou didn’t even show any sign of shame and he just grinned at him. “Oh, _I_ know who you are! But _they_ don’t.” He gestured meaningfully at the audience, and Yuri’s eyes widened as he’s reminded of how many people are in here yet again. It didn’t even make any sense—he’s competed here ever since he was little. This wasn’t new.

But Yuri knew it was. He was a senior now. This was a new stage.

“That’s why you better not lose!” declared Kenjirou, dramatically pointing a finger at him. “Because I want the whole world to know that _my_ baby brother is the coolest Angel of Love _ever!_ ”

Yuri flushed apple-red. “NII-SAN!”

The “Angel of Love” and the “Devil of Temptation” were what their dads had called their Agape and Eros themes, since Viktor was altering the original choreographies for them. (Yuri fucking hated it, to be honest.)

But he didn’t get the chance to smack his brother. “Alright, that’s enough, Ken-chan. We’re running late.” The pale blond yelped in pain as his head was pulled close and collided with his father’s. Yuri mumbled curses as Ken laughed away with a smiling Ekaterina in tow. He opened his eyes, glaring at his coach and deciding that Russian was a better option in complaining to him.

“What the hell, Vi—”

“Breathe in.”

Yuri paused, only a flicker of confusion flashing in his eyes, before obeying. Viktor’s fingers were cradling his face, and it wasn’t too hard to feel… steady.

“Breathe out.”

This continued for two more rounds, and only on the last one did Yuri realize that he really was running late. Yet he couldn’t help but lean some more on Viktor. The older man always did this embarrassing forehead-to-forehead/almost-bordering-on-headbutt thing with him before he starts his routines. Yuri felt guilty in remembering that he had run away from them a few times during this season. Maybe that’s why Viktor _did_ headbutt him this time.  

“Now, go and take their breath away,” ordered Viktor with a conqueror’s smile. “Make them cry with your Agape.”

At Yuri’s sudden tension, he pressed his hands further… then pinched his cheeks and stretched them.

“OWW! VIKTO—”

“I know you can do it.”

Yuri stared at him, lips thinning.

“I believe in you, тигренок. I always have. You can win. The question is… do _you_ believe in yourself?”

No longer able to bear his heated cheeks underneath Viktor’s fingers, the blond reared his head back… and smacked his forehead against the other’s.

Yuri clicked his tongue irritably, flipping his hair as he turned away from a whining Viktor in pain. “Of course I do, you idiot! And of course I’ll win!” he gruffly retorted.

**_“The next skater, representing Russia—”_ **

Yuri ducked his head. “After all…”

 _“He became your coach so you two would be close, but the truth is, he just wants to be your father. You_ are _his son, after all.”_

“I’m your son, aren’t I?”

**_“—Yuri Plisetsky!”_ **

Viktor halted his soothing ministrations to whip his head up, only catching the hurriedly-retreating back of his student. Replaying the words in his mind, the silver-haired man slowly smiled, letting the sweetness clench his heart and moisten his eyes. His little tiger always did have an odd way of saying “I love you.”

Finally at the center of the vast wintry stage, said little tiger bowed his head and positioned his arms at the ready.

(Running late had been worth it.)

_Remember the wind whipping your hair like Papa’s fingers combing it._

_Remember the sound of the ice as it lets you carve your path to the gold._

_Remember the voices that will cheer your name—no matter what._

He closed his eyes.

Silence.

Then the Latin choral music started, and Yuri blindly lifted his hand to reach for the heavens.

 

* * *

 

After watching his brother’s performance, JJ wasn’t really sure what exactly to expect from Yuri Plisetsky’s. He had noticed, though, as soon as the pale blond prepped around the ice, that the two brothers’ costumes were actually polar opposites—black and white—which probably meant that their themes were, too. If Ken had a seductive number, does Yuri have a delicately holy number, then? The Swan Prince-like costume suggested as much. Probably something about fairy tales. He _was_ aptly named the Russian Fairy.

(That, and the livestream had captured Ken’s pep talk to Yuri about being the “coolest Angel of Love.” JJ actually snorted at that.)

But none of his past experiences with the perpetually-frowning teen—from last night’s unexpected yet enlightening encounter to Yuri’s strange and somewhat physically-violent relationship with his family—could have _ever_ prepared him for what was to come.

The moment the song started playing, JJ’s brows furrowed. It sounded familiar.

Then the Russian teen started skating.

JJ would have appreciated to know that he hadn’t been the only one who gasped quietly, but as it was, he could only watch in silent awe. Yuri Plisetsky was… breathtaking, for lack of a better term. JJ had predicted a graceful, elegant program, but somehow the blond had refined those words through his movements, creating something even better. He was like a winter sprite dancing among the flowers and grass, turning everything he touched a frozen piece of art that only left his audience mesmerized.

This… This wasn’t how JJ had imagined him, to be honest. When he had first discovered the other to be a figure skater, he hadn’t imagined him as this at _all_. He had imagined powerful, angry strokes on the ice, wild flourishes silently screaming, _“Look at me. Watch me.”_ Determination haunting those fierce eyes, a stubborn pride keeping those shoulders straight…

But this had none of that.

It was as if the angry teen from last night had hidden somewhere deep inside that petite body, and someone delicate and innocent instead had emerged to dance for this one moment in time.

The camera kept focusing on Yuri’s whole body as he swayed and turned and reached out to an unseen audience. It was hard to tell what was going on with his face. But somehow, JJ had the feeling that he looked as vulnerable as his dance did.

Vulnerable.

That… That was not a word he would’ve ever associated with the blond.

JJ bit his cheek, suddenly feeling guilty. All this time, he had been judging the other with what he surmised from their brief encounter—and all because Yuri had criticized him so openly. JJ knew nothing about him aside from the few information he has, and that just wasn’t enough.

Watching him skate so wholeheartedly, though... It made JJ want to know more.

**_“Here comes the first jump, a triple axel.”_ **

JJ held his breath, not knowing why.

**_“Beautiful height! As expected of Yuri Plisetsky!”_ **

The elated applause from the arena relieved JJ so much that he blinked in confusion. What was he worrying about? _Why_ was he worried?

“A flying sit spin,” pointed out Gennie almost reverentially. Hearing that made JJ glance at his two companions, and found himself both amused and glad that they were just as enraptured as he was.

… So he _was_ enraptured by little frowny Yurochka?

 _Yes_ , he answered without hesitation, quickly looking back at the video. There was no way around it. Yuri Plisetsky was amazing. Was it his fault that he couldn’t help being transfixed by him?

The singer still couldn’t believe that he hasn’t laughed since Yuri started. He thought he would since the idea of the blond acting like a ballerina on the ice sounded hilarious to him, but miraculously, it wasn’t hilarious at all. It was far from being hilarious—it was downright _terrifying_.

Terrifying in the sense that despite Yuri’s graceful movements, there was still power in his jumps that hinted on the strong emotion JJ had imagined his usual programs to have.

Terrifying in the sense that when Yuri had threatened to kick him out of the lounge himself last night, he wasn’t joking—his high kick had actual athletic merit.

Terrifying in the sense that JJ couldn’t take his eyes off him for more than a millisecond, no matter how hard he tried. He didn’t even _want_ to try.

This wasn’t normal. When Liv made him watch Otabek Altin, he could still control himself. Was it because he was genuinely interested in Yuri Plisetsky? That couldn’t be it. Was it Yuri himself then? He’s heard of people that could bewitch others just by their art alone. He must be one of them—a beautiful artist capable of beautiful art.

No wonder he was so famous.

Yuri’s sequined costume kept glinting at the camera so much that JJ couldn’t help muse if he was actually watching an illusion. He honestly couldn’t recognize the blond on the screen anymore. There was no hint of the one he had met at the dim lounge by the evening cityscape.

**_“The first quad comes in a combination.”_ **

JJ blinked—had Yuri’s eyes sparkled?

**_“A quadruple Salchow, a triple toe loop!”_ **

**_“A fantastic jump combination with great height and flow!”_ **

That’s it. The determination he had been trying to find in the blond—it _was_ there. Yuri’s overall focus on embodying his dance had hidden it, but it had been there. For some reason, JJ was reminded of the time Yuri had answered his mock-question for suggestions. This persona… This wasn’t someone delicate and innocent—this was someone determined and… desperate.

_For what?_

The flourishes, the grand arm swings… JJ thought Yuri was trying to be a winter sprite. But he was looking more and more like… an angel.

Cornflower-blue eyes widened as a familiar part of the music came up, and he finally recognized it as the song that had played from Yuri’s phone that time. Yuri had been _practicing_ —or at least meditating for his performance. That’s why he had wanted to be left alone.

(God, he really had been a jerk last night.)

Feathered and sequined white costume.

Latin choral music.

Coolest Angel of Love.

**“He’s skating to ‘On Love: Agape,’ a different arrangement of the music used in Katsuki-Nikiforov’s program, with an opposing theme.”**

Agape. Unconditional love. God’s love. The blond teen skating to a love like that… and it was actually turning out to be hypnotizing.

His dads were utter geniuses.

Yuri nailed the last jump, too, and everyone was now screaming out loud.

**_“Yuri Plisetsky of Russia has truly remarkable talent!”_ **

_He does. He really does. I can’t believe that when I got angry at him, I thought that maybe he was just some nobody who knew nothing. I was so damn wrong._

_“Like I said, he has potential! He can do better! He can be more than what he usually is!”_

JJ felt his lips fall slack. _And I can’t believe someone like him… thinks I can do better._

“ _Il est tellement beau…_ ” whispered Olivia, clutching a throw pillow.

Gennie hummed in agreement.

Even JJ couldn’t refute that. It was like a fairy tale come to life. Yuri spun and spun and spun—his platinum blond hair dancing along like a pale flame to his heavenly white countenance.

Until the telltale crunch of the ice finally told of the end and the angel slowly—shakily—raised his clasped hands in a prayer.

The arena boomed with applause, and so did the common room of a certain penthouse in a certain hotel.

JJ expelled a gusty sigh, slowly clapping in contrast to Olivia and Gennie’s fevered praises. The outside world finally came into focus again, and JJ noted with surprise that he had actually forgotten his soup for a while. Taking up the bowl again, JJ took a bite out of one of the soaked bread rolls and idly listened to his female companions’ critique of the Russian skater’s performance. If they asked him, all he could possibly say at the moment was that he had _not_ been expecting _that_.

(JJ had to cough into his hand when the video showed Yuri’s fans throwing cat plushies on the ice and one particular cat-ears hairband actually making its way onto the blond’s head. He was glad all three of them laughed at the scene and not just him.)

As he watched Yuri make his way off the ice, JJ chewed placidly, suddenly conflicted and confused and trying not to show it. The strange calm turmoil feeling was back—which really _was_ strange because he had only watched a skating video. And yet JJ knew he just hadn’t watched that. He had also been enlightened once more.  

All throughout the performance, there was one word that had reverberated in Yuri Plisetsky—“vulnerable.”

Not innocent, or delicate, or graceful, or elegant.

Vulnerable.

It was a negative word in its usual context, and if JJ had mentioned it to the girls, they would’ve probably given him the stink-eye. But what was amazing was that Yuri had managed to turn that vulnerability into _power_. Stunned, JJ realized it now: he couldn’t turn away and neither could anyone else because Yuri _begged_ them all not to. They couldn’t deny him because he had bared his entire soul into his skating and asked them— _pleaded_ with them in the way body language could—not to shut him out.

And they didn’t.

JJ shivered involuntarily, grateful that Liv and Gennie were too distracted by Yuri’s family crushing him with a bear hug. That kind of power… it was a heady sensation, for one thing. Was that actually how he had managed to become so famous? Observing the blond and his family, it seemed as if he’s won the gold already. That couldn’t have been his first flawless performance, could it?

**_“The score for Yuri Plisetsky is 108.48.”_ **

JJ smiled as Yuri jumped out of his seat, only to be pulled back down by his proudly-grinning father. Sharing the success of a performer, despite only being an observer, was also a heady feeling.

… But now what?

It was a silly question, honestly. JJ could do a million things right now, after he finished his dinner. The night was still young. But that was it: he could do a million things right now, and _he wanted to do them all_. The strange calm turmoil made him feel as if he was detached from his body but at the same time, deeply connected to his body like never before.

It was weird to say it, but Yuri’s routine had actually _hyped_ him up.

(Which was bad considering that JJ gets like this often enough, and now it’s tripled due to the sudden rush of inspiration.)

He wanted to do something productive.

He wanted to copy what Yuri had just managed to do.

He…

He wanted to compose.

The image of Yuri’s face, so open and earnest as he told Jean of what he wanted to see in JJ Leroy, danced before his eyes—and just like that, he finally has an answer to the question that’s been plaguing his mind. Slowly, the dark-haired singer got up with empty bowl in hand and headed to the kitchenette.

“Are you still gonna watch?” asked his sister.

JJ rinsed his bowl and spoon and set them aside. “Nah… I was only curious about Yuri Plisetsky,” he admitted, no longer ashamed of what the girls might think. “Besides, I have a phone call to make.”

Liv stared at him searchingly with those cornflower-blue eyes of hers—before nodding with a smile. “Okay, then. Good luck.” She never asked unless JJ let her, but his baby sister was sharp and needed no further explanation.

“Thanks.” Gently ruffling her hair and saying goodnight to Gennie, he finally went back into his temporary sanctuary.

Two nights in a row that threw JJ Leroy for a loop… It was amazing, to be honest. Making his way to his bed, he noted his room with some satisfaction at what he’d managed to accomplish for several moody hours. Some of his papers were still scattered and his guitar lay ready on his bed, but now JJ ignored them in favor of his phone. He didn’t bother switching the lights on—this was the kind of phone call that needed the darkness.

When the third ring was finally picked up, JJ exhaled, his mind already made up on the path he’ll take.

“Hey, Belle.”

 

* * *

 

Yuri shrugged his jacket on, feeling unbelievably giddy this morning. After last night’s success, how could he not be? It took a while for him to sleep last night, as well. At least this time, it was because he had been so happy instead of so embarrassed.

Yuri scoffed. He can’t believe he actually wasted his time on something silly like that stupid JJ Leroy. They’ll never see each other again anyway. None of his fans had posted anything about him meeting the rockstar and that was another good thing. The last thing he wanted to come back to was the triplets and Mila and Ken nagging him.

The blond skater shook his head and pocketed his wallet and phone. He was going to have breakfast with his family at his favorite restaurant today, then later he and Ken will have practice, and then much later the Free Skate will finally commence. His fathers had been immensely proud of how far his Agape had come and he couldn’t wait to show off his free program to them. He really liked the music and choreography Lilia had given him.

Double-checking everything, he finally made to leave his room. He opened the door—oh, _Aniki’s_ already here?—Wait, that’s not _Ani_ — _OH MY FUCKING GOD_ —

Yuri reflexively slammed the door close, locked it, and turned away, still clutching the doorknob with a shaky hand. That’s not possible. It can’t be real. There’s no fucking way on this fucking earth that the guy outside his fucking room is _fucking_ —

_“Hey, that actually hurt, Yuri Plisetsky.”_

Yuri jumped away as if the doorknob scalded him, turning back towards the locked door in horror.

No.

_No._

_No no no no no no no nO_ —

_“Hey, are you still there? Are you okay? There’s no need to panic or anything. I didn’t come here to report you for stealing my fangirls.”_

The joke was lost on Yuri. _He knows my name_ , thought the blond in horror. _He knows my fucking_ name. _And he fucking knows my_ room number _!_ What did he ever do? Was it because he had bashed the Canadian rockstar right to his face? But he was only telling the truth! He _did_ suck! Was it because he had run away that time? Well, the idiot wasn’t entitled to his presence. Who the hell does he think he is?!

_“No, seriously, kid. Are you okay? You slammed the door so fast, you might’ve sprained something.”_

At being called a kid, Yuri snapped out of his shock. “W-Who’re you callin’ a kid?! Why are you outside my room?! What the fuck do you want?!”

There was silence behind the door, then Yuri heard a muffled… chuckle? He pressed closer to the door, not about to tolerate the guy for laughing at him just because they couldn’t see each other. 

_“I wanted to thank you.”_

What?

Yuri looked at the door in confusion. “What?”

_“For what you said to me that night. I wanted to thank you. And also… I wanted to apologize for what happened.”_

Yuri frowned. “Well, I’m used to being chased by fangirls.”

He heard JJ laugh again. The memory of “Jean” doing the same made him frown even more.

_“I meant about me tricking you like that. And… pestering you into going along with me. I wasn’t exactly in the right mindset that night, and when I heard you groan at my song… Well, I suddenly had this crazy idea.”_

Yuri grumbled, turning to lean on his back and cursing the memory of that annoying conversation. What is going on? He came here to thank him and apologize?

_“Really, Yuri. I wasn’t making fun of you by hiding my identity… Well, okay, maybe a just little.”_

Yuri squawked indignantly, ready to verbally shred the idiot to bits.

_“But once you got serious, I forgot about all that. And I appreciated my decision in keeping quiet. To be honest, I’m surprised you hadn’t recognized me. That’s why I couldn’t believe you knew so much about me.”_

“I-It’s not my fault you actually look ugly in person!” retorted Yuri, feeling a blush coming on. That was a lie—Jean-Jacques Leroy in person was most definitely _not_ ugly.

But the rockstar didn’t take offense, and instead, laughed that sincerely-amused laugh. _“Right, right… Well yeah, I wanted to thank you. You left before we could talk last time.”_

Yuri rubbed his cheeks, annoyed that he really was blushing now. This is so embarrassing. At least he couldn’t be seen. He had so much to say, but he felt tongue-tied. “So I’m right, then, huh? You really are a pretentious peacock.” He wanted JJ to leave already. Breakfast was waiting, the ice was waiting, _Russia_ was waiting… He didn’t have time for this guy. He didn’t want to _think_ about this guy.

_“Yeah, you’re right.”_

… Wait, what?

_“I’ve been pretending for quite some time now. It’s amazing how you’ve managed to notice that, actually.”_

No. No way. This didn’t sound like JJ Leroy. JJ Leroy was an obnoxious rockstar who was as vain and overconfident as… as people who are vain and overconfident! Why the fuck would JJ Leroy admit that he was anything less than that? Who was this?!

Was JJ saying this to pull his leg?

Yuri said as much to him, warning clearly in his voice.

 _“I’m saying this…”_ And here Yuri could hear the guy take a deep breath, _“because it’s always been rare for me to find the time to say it out loud.”_

_What…?_

_“Look, you obviously know me. I tend to run my mouth and just smile carelessly at the cameras, right?”_

Huh. So he _was_ self-aware.

_“But that doesn’t stop there. Even when I’m alone, I’m pretending. It’s always been hard for me to admit things.”_

“… Why?”

_“… Huh?”_

“Why is it hard? It’s just to yourself.” Yuri couldn’t understand it. Even when alone in the recesses of his mind, surely he could face some ugly truths? Right? Even someone like JJ Leroy could do that, right?

_“I guess… because it hurts less that way.”_

Emerald-green eyes widened and Yuri turned his head to the side, regarding the unseen person on the other side of the door. Was JJ Leroy… actually like this?

“Well…” Yuri squirmed uncomfortably. He didn’t want this conversation at all. This… This was too personal, and he wasn’t the right person and this wasn’t really the right time or the right place. JJ wanted to say thanks and apologize, right? Best to wrap it up now. JJ will be grateful for it. “What are you gonna do about what I said? You gonna sue me?!”

A beat of silence passed… then Yuri heard that faint chuckle again. _“I don’t think it’ll look good on my track record to sue someone for insulting me to my face.”_

Okay, so he didn’t want to have that conversation either. That’s good. They can move on now. “So what now? Are you gonna leave yet?”

_“Ha ha… Well, now… I ask for your permission.”_

Yuri’s eyebrows scrunched down. “My what?”

_“I’m currently writing my next album for next year, and I thought… maybe you’d like to give me feedback?”_

Yuri’s eyes widened, and he fully turned to the door now. He wanted Yuri to do _what?_

_“I like you, Yuri.”_

The blond was sure he had already combusted. “HUH?!”

 _“Aha ha ha! I meant I like your style! Calm down, Blondie!_ ”

Oh. Ohhhhhh. _You could at least say it right, asshole!_ Yuri took several deep breaths, trying to force his hand away from the doorknob. He had almost opened it to grab JJ’s collar and demand an explanation. _What am I doing? I’m being stupid!_ There was no way he was opening the door while JJ Leroy was still outside his room.

“My… My style…?”

 _“You’re blunt and honest,”_ explained the singer. _“You’re not afraid to say what’s on your mind. And I needed that. I think I still need that. The people I know who are like you are already pretty close to me and let me get away with things. But you won’t—because you don’t like me, right?”_

He _definitely_ didn’t like him.

_“So what do you say? Wanna be my harshest critic ever?”_

It was ridiculous… but the title actually _excited_ Yuri. He clamped down on his thoughts and inhaled slowly.

“What’s the catch?” he asked cautiously. _I swear, if this asshole—_

_“Nothing really. Well…”_

Yuri braced himself.

_“Maybe just an autograph?”_

The blond skater blinked. What?

“What?”

_“I watched your performance last night. You were pretty cool, you know. And again, sorry for interrupting you that time at the lounge. You were kind of practicing with your music, right?”_

Wait.

Wait, JJ watched him?

JJ watched him skate?

JJ fucking Leroy watched him skate… _that cheesy routine in that cheesy outfit?!_

The singer started calling his name in confusion and worry, but Yuri could only whine and hide his face in embarrassment. His image was _ruined_.

 _“Yuri, I’m serious. You were pretty cool! I honestly couldn’t look away! How did you do that, by the way? You’re pretty amazing to actually achieve that with_ me _, you know.”_

The blond peeked out from behind his fingers, mulling the words. He was cool? He actually entranced _the_ Jean-Jacques Leroy with his skating? He thought only his fathers could do that to people.

“… You really think I’m cool?”

_“Yeah! That’s why I—the great JJ Leroy—am asking for an autograph.”_

Yuri snorted. Way to bring the obnoxiousness back.

“… You don’t think I’m beautiful or elegant or any of that shit?” _That I was_ actually _cool in that girly outfit?_

_“Well, I’m glad you’re at least aware that you’re beautiful.”_

“You little—!” Too late. Yuri had already opened the door to shout at his stupid attempts of bait-n-flirt, and stupid JJ—with his stupid shades on his stupid head—had just looked on with surprise and amusement in his sparkling blue eyes.

Yuri slammed the door close, but he couldn’t quite cut off JJ’s raucous laughter. He slapped his warm forehead.

_“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”_

“Fuck you!”

 _“I wasn’t kidding, though! You_ are _cool!”_

The Russian teen huffed in irritation. See if he ever opens the door for the asshole again.

_“Hey, c’mon… Why don’t we start over?”_

He was _not_ opening the door. Why had he even let this idiot talk to him for so long? His family was probably wondering where he was by now.

_“Hey. Check your phone, will you?”_

At that, the blond frowned, but he hesitantly did as suggested. Had he somehow gotten ahold of Yuri’s contact details? There was a notification from one of his SNS.

**_JJ Leroy would like to be your friend._ **

Emerald-green eyes widened in utter surprise.

_“I figured maybe you’ll like communicating with me better if you don’t hear my voice.”_

“…Y-Yeah, ‘cause you sound annoying!”

_“Ha ha!”_

But truthfully, Yuri was kinda touched. It wasn’t every day that an international celebrity with millions of fans worldwide would want to be _his_ friend. And yet here was JJ Leroy, actually trying to reach out to him. Yuri had accused him of holding back from his fans… and now he was trying _not_ to—even though Yuri _wasn’t_ a fan.

Outside, JJ leaned on the doorframe, wary of the door itself. It had already hit his cheek, and despite Yuri’s stature, he was pretty damn strong when he wants to be.

His phone suddenly vibrated on his hand. Since Yuri was silent on his end, JJ decided it couldn’t hurt to check for a bit. He was probably weighing the pros and cons of accepting his selfish request.

**_Yuri Plisetsky has accepted you as his friend._ **

Cornflower-blue eyes widened and it took all of JJ’s self-preservation to not loudly whoop in joy.

Suddenly, a chat bubble opened up.

**_im Yuri_ **

For a moment, JJ frowned in confusion. Then he remembered his words. _Why don’t we start over?_

The singer huffed in breathy laughter, clutching his phone close. This blond sure had a way with making friends.

**nice to meet you Yuri**

**name’s Jean-Jacques Leroy**

**but you can just call me JJ ;)**

**_ok so can you leave now?_ **

JJ laughed again. Why was it so easy to laugh around this guy?

“Oh, come on, Yuri~! We’re friends now! Don’t you wanna hang out and celebrate?”

_“We’re not friends! I just added you so you can send me your stupid album and I can point out all the times you sounded stupid!”_

“Oh, but you didn’t have to add me where everyone can easily see that we’re friends. We could’ve just exchange numbers,” pointed JJ out.

As expected, Yuri stayed quiet. Was he angry? Was he blushing in embarrassment? JJ wanted to know. Damn, it was fun to tease the skater, and he didn’t even feel any shame in doing it.

JJ really _was_ a jerk.

(A jerk who made a new friend.)

_“Seriously, JJ, I have to go.”_

He finally said his name. It was strange, but that made the singer happy.

“I can walk with you, then. Let’s chat!”

_“No. Leave me alone.”_

“Aww, but you can’t just expect me to leave without seeing your face? I thought we were friends!”

_“No.”_

JJ just really couldn’t find it in himself to be ashamed. “Let me buy you a snack, then? Or breakfast?”

_“No! JJ, leave!”_

“But my autograph!”

As Yuri continued to resist against his pleas, JJ realized that maybe that one shot of vodka _had_ been a good idea. If he hadn’t been reckless, he would’ve never discovered someone like Yuri Plisetsky.

(Deep inside, he’s glad he made Theme of King JJ annoying for Yuri.)

Yuri, on the other hand—and on the other side—immediately regretted indulging the idiot rockstar’s request of his friendship. But for some reason, he couldn’t seem to regret his decision to stay at the lounge room that night.

Maybe getting to know the real JJ Leroy wouldn’t be so bad.

(Yuri was wrong. It was going to be bad. But by then, he would hardly care.)

**Author's Note:**

> Another... almost-30k... work... OTL
> 
> ~~WHY~~
> 
> Okay, anyways, let's talk about the AUs at play here:
> 
> First is the writing prompt. The unknowingly/accidentally-insults-celebrity prompt has always been one of my favorites and I was so glad to have found that Pliroy actually fits it like a glove. If you'll check them out, there are actually only a handful of fics with this prompt and all of them are short one-shots. I aimed to do the same (a oneshot), but a _little_ more detailed. Now I have a way-more-detailed-than-should've-been-necessary fic. And I've long since plotted Chapter 2. So I failed on both accounts. OTL
> 
> All the fics with this prompt followed the same pattern, and that is that the celebrity and would-be insult-giver somehow meet and discuss the hated song, and at the end, the celebrity offers the person the chance to critic their work (which leads to romance). For some reason, the would-be insult-giver is always someone normal and average.
> 
> Well, fuck that. Yuri Plisetsky is a celeb here, too, and haha JJ, you're doomed.
> 
> Next is the rockstar!JJ AU. ... Actually, I don't need to elaborate on this. From the moment I decided on this prompt, it was obvious that JJ was going to be the musician with the annoying theme song. I mean, c'mon, it was like Theme of King JJ had been _made_ for this.
> 
> Okay, and last is @[skygemspeaks](http://skygemspeaks.tumblr.com/)' [Stepfamily AU](http://skygemspeaks.tumblr.com/tagged/stepfamily-au). This AU had really pulled my heartstrings back then. Thinking of Minami and Yuri as brothers warmed my heart. But I never planned to write the AU—until I started planning this fic, that is. It just somehow _fit_. The storyline already diverged when I made JJ and his family into the music business, so why not diverge it some more, right? All I can say is, the Stepfamily AU was a perfect fit to this fic.
> 
> List of my own twists to the Stepfamily AU (that can be currently found in the fic):  
> \- Kenjirou is older, which means I've maintained their canon ages.  
> \- Kenjirou is not Yuuri's biological son. ;)  
> \- Yuuri doesn't actually retire; he just comes back home defeated from Sochi (since Ken isn't his son so he has no reason to retire early) and then comes Viktor to coach him.
> 
> Fun Fact: this story got so long because in the middle of writing Yuri's criticism of JJ's character, I stumbled across a really nice adjective—[that fucking opened up a whole new line of JJ's character study](http://araminthe-ispwitch.tumblr.com/post/155948897966/that-feeling-when-youre-just-writing-yuri-trying). (The adjective was "pretentious." OTL) I've already long headcanon-ed that JJ's anxiety comes in the form of him using a dazzling mask so people wouldn't see his "silly" insecurities. But again, because of the change in Yuri's character brought on by the Stepfamily AU, Yuri noticed something was off and he uses it as his criticism on JJ and again, tHIS FUCKING FIT SO PERFECTLY IN THIS STORY I'M STILL MINDBLOWN. 
> 
> So yeah. The angst wasn't actually planned. It just... happened. (???)
> 
> Also, this Rostelecom Cup is basically the one in canon. I just replaced Yuuri Katsuki with Kenjirou and tweaked some scores. Plus, Yuri doesn't fall down in his triple axel here.
> 
> Olivia and Gennie—and Vier and the rest of JJ's crew—are mine. As far as I know, JJ's sibs don't have any names. Ekaterina is also mine. If you've read my Georgi one-shot, you'll know who she is.
> 
> I'm not gonna post the translations of the Russian and French here. Maybe on the next chapter. You can Google Translate them anyway. All you need to know is that @[just-themys](http://just-themys.tumblr.com/) helped with the French and I mostly searched for the Russian (didn't use Google Translate). Tell me if I got anything wrong.
> 
> The thing with Axel Nishigori aspiring to become a composer is my beloved headcanon. It started with getting obsessed over the song "Yuri on Ice". Made a story about Yuuri's estranged cousin as the actual composer of his theme song. Said cousin isn't a piano prodigy but he understands music intimately and just worked hard on his piano-playing. He dreams of becoming Yuuri's personal composer. So I just transferred that to Axel because it's obvious I'll never write that fanfic. :P
> 
> ~~There will be actually be a Ch. 2, but for now, this story is "complete."~~
> 
> ~~Also, prepare for Minabek.~~
> 
> This is the fastest 30k fic I've ever written. Only three months. OTL


End file.
